


What Happens in Vegas

by Malibusunset



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9339860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malibusunset/pseuds/Malibusunset





	1. Chapter 1

Title:  What Happens in Vegas

Author:  Malibu Sunset

Email:  [malibusunset88@gmail.com](mailto:malibusunset88@gmail.com)

Category:  MSR; First Time; Humor

Rating: Mild NC-17

Summary:  This is an alternative ending to the episode Three of a Kind. What might have happened if Scully had reached Mulder when she called him and he had met her in Vegas? Maybe this….

Disclaimer: The characters aren’t mine; the story is. Just borrowing them for fun.

Thanks:  To Steph, who has the best ideas ever and whose dirty mind equals my own.  And to the NR’s – you know who you are. NEVER OVER IT!  

 

 

Las Vegas

 

When Mulder steps from the air conditioned cab, the wall of stagnant heat hits him like a tidal wave and his cotton shirt suctions itself to his body. Beads of sweat gather between his shoulder blades as he digs through his wallet for an appropriate tip. His small carry-on bag managed to get beat to hell even more than usual in the overhead compartment of the plane and it sags sadly on the curb, waiting for him. He considers blaming Frohike and Company for that too. Bunch of weenies. He can’t believe they thought they’d get away with luring Scully out to Vegas on false pretenses. He could have told them they were in over their heads. It was inevitable that she’d figure it out. And when she did, she was on the phone with Mulder, who hopped a plane to Nevada two hours later, and here he is. Sweating his ass off in Sin City.

The convention has the hotel sold out, but between the guys and Scully, he figures he can mooch a pillow and a blanket off someone. He dials Scully’s cell phone, gets voice mail, hangs up without leaving a message, then dials Frohike.  Someone pokes his shoulder and he spins to see his trollish friend staring up at him sheepishly, his phone to his ear. Mulder punches the end button and pockets the phone. “Do you know how many drinks you owe me if I can keep her from kicking your ass for this?” he says.

“Approximately. Although the ass kicking holds some allure, I must admit.”

“Where is everybody? Scully’s not answering her phone.”

“Not sure. She and Langly finished the autopsy an hour ago. Maybe she’s in her room.”

“I need somewhere to toss my bag and take a shower.”

Frohike fishes into the pocket of his black leather jacket and hands Mulder a credit card key. “Here. Room 631. Find Scully and meet us in the casino bar, Amigo. We need a plan before this thing gets any weirder.”

Mulder nods and pockets the key, heading for the elevator.

 

***

 

Showered and changed, Mulder tries Scully again to no avail. Where the hell is she? He tries seducing the front desk clerk into giving him her room number, but meets failure there too, as well as unimpressed looks when he flashes his badge. He leaves, feeling vaguely stalkerish, and makes his way through the casino toward the bar.

 

He hasn’t been to Vegas in years. The last time was right after Diana had left for Europe and he came to work a case by himself, disgruntled by being alone again. Certainly it had been as much to drown himself in the excesses available to him as it had been out of any real legitimacy to the case. He had played table games and downed scotch all night with a blue-eyed brunette he’d met in the elevator, and the only reason he’d gone back to his room alone that night was because he’d had too much to drink and didn’t want to push his luck, so to speak.

He paces toward the bar now, weaving a path through inebriated gamblers, when he hears it, carried above the hum of the crowd, carefree and melodious, like windchimes. He’d know that laugh anywhere, although he’s quite certain he’s never heard it like this before. An expression of concern and bewilderment settles onto his face as his gait quickens and he pushes past suits and sequins.

He sees Frohike before he spots Scully, his short stature drowning amidst a group of at least five men, all hovering around the pretty redhead on the bar stool. Jesus Christ. Mulder stops short at the sight of Scully, and he does a double-take. It’s her all right. But if he was a betting man, he’d say she’s been possessed by the spirit of Marilyn Monroe. She’s working a crowd of eager men better than a pin-up girl on a military base.

With a flip of her hair, she suggestively extracts an unlit cigarette from a pack offered to her, using only her mouth. That mouth.  His stomach tightens as he watches the vultures circle and he doesn’t need to read the thought bubbles above their heads to know exactly what each one of them is thinking. A blonde haired man leans in and whispers something in her ear and she erupts into careless laughter, blinking up at him from beneath batty lashes and wetting her lips.

What the absolute fuck is going on, and who the hell managed to get Scully drunker than a sorority pledge? Jaw tight and hands fisted at his side, he moves in.

He’s just paces away when he sees Frohike coaxing Scully down off her stool and tugging her out of the crowd, her heels shuffling reluctantly after him. She sends a regretful look over her shoulder toward her suitors who appear equally disappointed. Mulder quells the urge to toss a few punches, but decides that getting thrown out of the casino for the night isn’t to anyone’s benefit, especially Scully’s at this point.

He steps into their path and addresses Frohike defensively. “What the hell is going on? What’s the matter with her?”

Frohike raises one hand in surrender, while continuing to steady Scully with his other arm. Mulder can only imagine what his expression must look like because the smaller man appears as if he wants to tuck tail and run. “Damned if I know! She was fine earlier. Who knew Scully could drink this much?”

Scully’s attention has now completely shifted onto Mulder and an enormous smile lights up her face. “Therrrre you are.” She pushes toward Mulder and bumps into his chest before righting herself with a hand to the front of his shirt. “I thought you’d never get here.” Her giggle is rapturous and confusing to multiple parts of his body.

“How much have you had to drink, Scully?”

Her hair flies about her face as she shakes her head vehemently. “Not a one.” She crosses herself sloppily with an index finger and pouts her bottom lip at him. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

Mulder and Frohike exchange skeptical looks.

Scully’s smile fades and she pats the front of her, eyes glancing about the carpeted floor. “Where’s my cigarette? I had a cigarette just a minute ago.” Just as quickly as the smile faded, it returns. “Ooh Mulder, let’s play some slot machines. You wanna play some slot machines with me?” Her small hand darts into the very top of his front pants pocket before he knows what’s coming. “Do you have any money, Mulder?”

He flinches away from her and grabs her hand. “Scully! Hey, hey, take it easy there.”

“Somebody must have slipped something in one of her drinks,” says Frohike.

Scully hangs off Mulder’s arm giggling up at him. A cocktail waitress with a tray of dirty glasses walks by and Scully’s hand stretches to grab a half-empty tumbler of amber liquid. Before she can bring it to her mouth, Mulder snatches it from her and places it behind them on a table, ignoring Scully’s indignant pout.

“Take her up to her room,” instructs Mulder. “Stay with her until I get there and don’t let her out of your sight. I’m going to question the bartender and find out who served her.”

Frohike nods and takes Scully by the arm. “Come on, Good Time Sally. Let’s get you some place where you can sleep it off.”

Scully grins back over her shoulder at Mulder, but follows Frohike obediently out of the casino.

 

***

 

Mulder can’t believe that no one at the bar can remember who might’ve served a pretty redhead about an hour ago, but his questions are met with blank, inconvenienced stares. “Look, Buddy, it’s a crowded bar. I just serve ‘em, I don’t take names and addresses,” the bartender says, sarcastically. Mulder’s middle finger twitches, but he behaves himself.

The emptiness in his stomach gets the better of him and he buys a bag of seeds and a candy bar in the gift shop and then heads for the elevator. He anticipates a lively evening, babysitting Scully until she sleeps this off.

He’s never seen her like this before. And while a drunken, flirtatious Scully would have normally intrigued him in a good way, he feels more bothered by the oddness of the circumstances instead. She was fine when he spoke to her on the phone just hours ago.  So what then - she had hung up the phone and then decided to go down to the bar to get tanked and pick up strange men? It didn’t add up. Scully had a rebellious streak in her, but not a stupid one.

Mulder is cracking a seed in his teeth in the elevator, halfway to the sixth floor when he notices a man in a pin-striped suit, his only elevator companion, giving him the visual once over, followed by a friendly smile. “Any luck down there for you tonight, my friend?”

His accent is curious – German or maybe Russian. Mulder smiles back and meets his eyes. “Afraid not. You?”

The man tilts his head, thoughtfully. “Not yet. But the night is young, no?”

Mulder chuckles politely and nods, turning toward the elevator doors as the car hums to a stop. The last thing he hears is the ding of the elevator doors right before he collapses under a sharp, quick blow to the back of his skull and everything goes black.

 

***

  

Scully is on her knees in front of the small hotel room refrigerator, shifting the contents about carelessly. Frohike checks and double checks his digital watch. Where the hell is everybody? It’s been forty-five minutes since he brought Scully up to her room and still no sign of Mulder, or anyone else for that matter.

And regardless of how much he adores Scully, she’s beginning to make him a little nervous. She’s been fluttering about like a hummingbird since they arrived. The moment they got to the room, she went about flipping through every cable channel three times before kicking off her heels and flopping onto the center of the king-sized bed,  smiling up at him. “Lie down and talk to me. I’m soooooo bored,” she had pouted, her blazer eschew and silk blouse pulled tight.

Bad, bad, bad idea, Melvin. Talk about a death wish. If he so much as touches that bed with her on it, and Mulder walks in, it’ll be all over but the crying. Despite all his wise ass talk, Frohike is an honorable man at heart, and he does not take what doesn’t belong to him. He’s smart enough to read between the lines. It may not be in the traditional way, but Scully is absolutely spoken for.

His protective eyes are on the back of her now, watching her sort through tiny glass bottles in the door of the fridge before her small hand starts twisting at the cap on a mini bottle of Bacardi. “Rum! Look! And they have Coke too. Let’s mix rum and Cokes!”

Shit. “Uhhhh, no you don’t, Scully. I think you’ve had enough for one night. Let’s stick with water, shall we?”

He takes the rum from her hand and replaces it with a bottle of Dasani, but she pushes it aside, already sidetracked by small packages of gold, crinkly things.  “Ooooooh Belgian chocolates! My favorite!” She tears at the wrapper and slips a chocolate into her mouth. “So good,” she says blissfully, mouth full. “Have one!”

Frohike takes the package and sets it down on the nightstand behind him. “I have an idea, Scully. Why don’t you get comfortable and relax and we’ll try the TV again. Maybe find a movie or something while we wait for Mulder.”

Her face lights up at the name, child-like. “Is Mulder here?”

“Uhhh, yeah, of course Mulder’s here. Remember? We just saw him in the casino.”

“That’s right!” She darts to the door, excitedly, and begins to unlock the deadbolt. “Let’s go find him! Let’s find Mulder!”

“Hang on there, Missy. Mulder told us to wait here and that’s what we’re going to do.” Frohike throws the bolt again and attaches the chain, hoping to deter the pint-sized Houdini.

“I want to tell you a secret,” she whispers, leaning into his shoulder, her hair tickling his neck. “But you can’t tell anyone, okay?” Those insanely blue orbs blink up at him and he manages an extremely cautious nod.

“I like Mulder.” She smiles, eyebrows lifting.

“Okay,” he replies quietly, like they’re trading state secrets. “That’s good. I like Mulder too.”

“Nooooooooo silllllly, I mean I really like Mulder.” This time, she punctuates her statement with a girlish laugh. “Like, reeeeally like him. You know what I’m saying?” Her face is delightfully flushed.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I do, yes.”

“Don’t tell *anyone*,” she says. “Promise?”

Frohike suppresses a laugh and places a hand to her shoulder, soberly. “Your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell a soul.” Jesus Christ. How can it be this difficult to get two hopelessly in love people together?

Scully is already on to the next thing, sitting now on the edge of the bed, turning knobs on the clock radio. “This is really boring. Vegas is supposed to be fun. I’m bored, Melvin,” she fusses with an exaggerated sigh, twisting the radio knobs with a pouty look on her face. “Let’s go find a club where we can dance.”

She’s like a cracked out Chihuahua. If only he could find something sparkly, he could probably keep her occupied until Mulder gets here. 

Two seconds later, she’s on her feet, reeling him in by the lapels of his leather jacket. “I LOVE THIS SONG! Dance with me!” Her arms fold around his neck. Frohike stands stick still with his hands held out to his sides, not touching her.

He swallows hard. “You know, I’m not really much of a dancer, Scully. I think I’ll sit this one out.” Before Mulder walks in and rearranges my face, which isn’t all that great to begin with, he thinks.

“Party pooper!” She shrugs out of her black jacket and tosses it onto a chair. “Then I guess I’ll just have to dance alone then.”  Which is exactly what she does, her hips starting to circle provocatively.

Don’t watch, Melvin. Do not watch. She’s not the least bit sober right now, and when she lifts her arms like that, you’re seeing parts of her that look even better than you imagined they might. Mulder is a decent-sized guy. And he carries a gun.

Melvin watches her anyway. And realizes how very screwed he is.

When the knock sounds at the door, he jumps a mile. Scully keeps dancing as he goes to answer it. Not my idea, Mulder, not my idea, he silently chants to himself, practicing his plea. One glance through the peep hole and he throws open the door. “Where the hell have you turkeys been?”

Langly, Byers, and Suzanne waltz into the room. “We were looking for Suzanne,” exclaims Byers. 

“Where were you?” Langly frowns at Frohike. “We searched all over the casino for you.”

Frohike folds his arms over his chest and turns in the direction of Scully. The others stare at her, curiously. “I’ve been right here. Babysitting the Spookette.”

Scully continues her gyrations, clapping her hands together excitedly at the sight of their new room guests. “Finally! It’s about time this party got started!” Her laugh is loud and unguarded, her hair twisting about her face as she moves.

“What is she doing?” asks Byers, brows furrowed in concern.

“Dancing,” proclaims Frohike, stiffly.

“How much did she have to drink?” asks Langly.

“What’s the matter with her?” adds Byers, turning the volume on the radio down. 

Frohike shakes his head. “Nobody seems to know. Mulder stayed down in the bar to try and figure that out, but that was an hour ago. He should have been up here by now.”

Scully pouts her bottom lip. “What is it with you guys? Nobody knows how to party around here.” She reaches for Langly’s arm and tugs him closer. “Hey Cutie, you’ll dance with me, won’t you?”

Langly starts reluctantly bobbing his head and shifting back and forth in his Doc Martens, nervously. Frohike, swats his arm hard.

“OW!”

“What the hell are you doing, bonehead?”

“She asked me to dance with her,” whines Langly.

Frohike levels a look at him and Langly slouches to a stop.

“She isn’t drunk,” asserts Suzanne confidently, striding toward Scully and grasping her arm to get her to stop dancing. Scully frowns her protest and tries to shrug away from the other woman as Suzanne lifts the red tresses by her ear. “Just as I thought. She’s been injected with a drug.”

“What do you mean? What kind of drug?” asks Frohike, squaring his shoulders and stepping in front of Scully, protectively.

“The long-term effects are essentially harmless,” assures Suzanne. “I know because I designed it myself. It’s an anoetic histamine. It suppresses higher brain function and promotes susceptibility. It lowers her inhibitions, dramatically, causing her to do and say things she normally wouldn’t.”

Well, that explains a hell of a lot. “So what do we do about it?” Now that he’s certain Scully had absolutely nothing to do with her current state of being, Frohike feels his anger rising.

“There’s an antidote. I have it in my hotel room. If I inject her with it now, she’ll sleep off the effects in six to eight hours.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” challenges Frohike.

Byers reaches for Suzanne’s arm. “You can’t go back to that room by yourself. It isn’t safe. I’m going with you.”

Suzanne’s hand covers John’s. “I’ll be fine. You have to trust me. I’ll slip in and out and be back in ten minutes, John. Stay here.”

Frohike looks at him. “She’s right. If she’s seen, she’ll be safer by herself. We can’t leave Scully like this. We need that antidote.”

Byers sighs and nods reluctantly, and Suzanne slips out the door with a promise to return as soon as possible. 

“What should we do while we wait?” asks Langly.

“I’m going to go look for Mulder,” says Frohike. “You two stay here and watch her. Don’t leave her alone for a second. Mulder’s already pissed off we dragged her here in the first place.”

Frohike hears the hotel room deadbolt engage after he walks out. He makes his way down an empty hallway toward the elevator.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The tiniest sliver of light is all Mulder can see when he opens his eyes. Wincing in pain, he cradles his head in his hands and rolls over in the tight space. Where the fuck is he? His head is killing him and he fights back nausea.

He remembers being in an elevator, headed up to Scully’s room. He remembers the man in the pinstriped suit with the accent. But after that, he’s at a loss. Son-of-a-bitch must have cold cocked him! Which bring him back to where the hell is he?

Fumbling himself to a seated position, he ascertains from what little he can make out, that he’s in some kind of supply closet. And it’s small. He can’t stretch his legs out without the soles of his shoes pressing against the opposite wall. He shifts around a little and mentally diagnoses himself fine, aside from a small goose egg on the left side of his head. That, and he has to pee like crazy.

A quick feel to the inside of his jacket indicates that he is no longer in possession of his cell phone. Fuck. A thumb to the side of his digital watch casts an elfish green glow and numbers dance in front of his dizzy eyes. 

9:48 p.m. It’s only been about fifty minutes since he left the bar to go up to Scully’s room. Whatever happened to him, he hasn’t been out for long. He feels strange all over, like every nerve ending in his body is hypersensitive. He lifts a heavy hand to rub his face and then lets it fall limply to his side again.

And then, without warning, his entire predicament suddenly seems unbearably, ludicrously  funny, and Mulder’s entre body begins to shake with uncontrollable laughter.

 

***

Frohike punches the down button outside the elevator door and crosses his arms to wait.  Repeated calls to Mulder’s cell phone went unanswered, but that isn’t surprising with the noise levels in the casino.

He hates to even think about how pissed Mulder will be when he finds out that Scully has, in fact, been drugged. Melvin can’t help but feel responsible. They had lured Scully to Vegas under false pretenses and now look what’s happened. She’s safe, which is what really matters. But it’s entirely possible that the same drug that did this to Scully is at least partially to blame for the fate of their murdered friend. All Frohike can think about is finding Mulder, getting that antidote into Scully, and getting them all the hell out of Vegas tomorrow.

 His eyes travel the worn paisley carpeting near the edge of the elevator door as he waits and suddenly something tiny, almost unnoticeable catches his attention. Frohike bends to retrieve one small seed. A sunflower seed. He scans the entire area for more, his respiration picking up just a little. It could be nothing, or it could be-

His gaze catches on a small scattering of seeds three feet away, near the entrance to the stairwell and he moves closer, nudging them with the scuffed toe of his black boot. He’s vaguely aware of the ding of the elevator doors opening behind him. A Hispanic woman in a blue housekeeping uniform, pushing a cart of linens, holds the door open with her hand. “Sir? You come?” she asks in broken English.

Frohike shakes his head, staring down at his finding on the carpet. “Gracias. No Seniorita, you go ahead.” The elevator doors close and Melvin is once again alone in the hallway. He pushes his way into the stairwell and immediately sees dark scuff marks on the speckled tiles, as if something heavy had been dragged across them.

He follows the scuff marks down two flights to the fourth floor and around a corner where a small, inconspicuous door lies hidden beneath the stairs. Frohike stops short right outside the closet and listens closely. There’s a sound coming from behind the door. It sounds like someone laughing.

Shit. Frohike knows that laugh. He swears under his breath and starts working at the lock.

 

***

 

Langly looks both ways down the hallway, suspiciously, before opening the door to allow them entry. “Come on, come on, hurry up,” complains Frohike. “I got another one.” Mulder shuffles in behind him, one arm slung haphazardly across Melvin’s shoulder.

“What the-“ starts Langly.

“Oh no, not him too,” sighs Byers, crossing to give Frohike a hand with Mulder. “Where’d you find him?”

“Off the fourth floor stairwell, in a supply closet. He’s pretty messed up.”

 Frohike and Byers help Mulder to the bed where he sits compliantly and grins up at them. “Heeeey, guys. What’sss going on?” When Mulder notices Scully sleeping on the bed next to him, his eyes brighten. He picks up her limp arm and drops it onto the mattress. “Sculleeeee. Hey Scully, wake up. Loooooook, everybody’s here and you’re sleeping through the party.” He flips her hand back and forth between his like it’s detached from her body. “Waaaaaake up, Sculleeeee.” He snorts out a laugh.

“Is she all right?” asks Frohike.

“She’s fine,” assures Suzanne, who moves closer to inspect Mulder. “She’s been injected with the antidote. She just needs to sleep it off.”

“I think we’ve got another taker here on that antidote. Is there enough?” asks Frohike.

Suzanne is already ahead of him, preparing a needle. Mulder, who is still preoccupied with the process of lifting Scully’s limbs and allowing them to fall back onto the mattress, barely flinches when the shot is administered.

“What the f-“ He flops down next to Scully on his back and drops off to sleep.

Frohike, Langly, and Byers stand side-by-side at the foot of the bed with arms crossed, staring down at their friends.  

“What now?” asks Byers.

“We let them sleep,” says Suzanne. “They’ll be fine in the morning.”

 Frohike frowns in concern. “Are you sure we should leave them alone?”

“We’ll lock the door behind us,” says Langly. “They’re just sleeping. What can happen?”

Frohike lingers a few moments longer, silently talking himself out of his concerns, until his friends urge him out of the room. “Sweet dreams, Guys,” he whispers, hitting the lights on the way out.

 

 

***

 

Scully is having that dream again. The one where they’re going over a case file and sharing a bottle of wine on his worn leather couch and when she turns to say something to Mulder he kisses her and lowers her down onto her back and unbuttons her blouse and runs his tongue over that spot on her stomach that makes her gasp. Except that she can never seem to get past the point where he slips off her purple satin bra, no matter how hard she tries. It isn’t fair. If she can’t even get past the foreplay in her dreams, how are they ever going to get anywhere for real?

Something rouses her. Her eyes edge open slowly and she winces at the light pouring in through the windows across from the bed. Not her bed. She closes her eyes again, listening to the steady drone of an air conditioner. Which hotel are they in now and why is she sleeping naked? She’s always careful to bring pajamas on the road with her.

There is something very warm pressed against her bare back. Her brows furrow as she searches her brain, past the insistent thrum of a nagging headache. Very slowly, with aching precision, she rolls over and turns her head to the side, opening her eyes. And that’s exactly when she stops breathing. 

Okay, clearly she is still dreaming. She huffs out a tiny laugh and blinks long and slow.

Aaand he’s still there.

Flat on his back, smooth, toned chest rising and falling steadily in slumber, one long arm flung over his abdomen. And completely naked from the waist up. She swallows slowly and with expert stealth, lifts just the corner of the sheet to peer beneath it. Sweet Baby Jesus. And naked from the waist down too. She slams her eyes closed, then reopens just one, then the other and glances down between the sheets again. Oh my.

He stirs a fraction and she drops the sheet like it’s on fire. She holds her breath as he settles again with a blissful sigh, then she releases the air in her lungs.

Okay, think. Just think. She pulls up onto her elbows and surveys the room with the eye of a trained investigator. A desperately hungover trained investigator who has just woken up naked beside her partner in…where the hell are they again?  Her surroundings look familiar to a point. She vaguely recalls checking in and that is definitely her suitcase sitting on the floor over there. That’s her jacket draped over the chair and her purse next to it. That’s her cell phone on the nightstand and her leather badge.  That’s her-oh God… that’s her pair of cotton, pale blue panties on the carpet next to a pair of black boxers that are definitely not hers. She leans over the edge of the bed slightly to follow an entire trail of clothing that appears to go around the perimeter of the king sized bed. The comforter is in a fitful ball on the floor and the bottom sheet is pulled off the mattress at the corner. With a groan, she falls back onto the pillow and flings an arm over her eyes.   

The movement of the bed stirs her partner again but this time, his eyes blink sleepily before drifting open. She pulls the sheet up tightly under her bare breasts and watches him warily as he regains consciousness in slow stages. His facial expressions mimic hers just moments ago, cycling through “Why does my head feel like this,” to “Where the hell am I,” to “Oh hey, there’s Scully,”  to “OHHHHH!”

He pulls up in the bed a little until the sheet stops just at the top of his hips and they regard one another sheepishly. His eyes lower to where the sheet is pulled across her breasts. Then he lifts the edge resting over his lower half and glances down before slamming the covers back down quickly. She watches his Adam’s apple bob. “Uhh…what um…” He clears his throat.

“I don’t know.”

He looks around the room, absorbing. “Scully…um… did…“

“I don’t know,” she echoes. “I can’t remember a thing.”

He closes his mouth and nods thoughtfully, his brain obviously trying to process their predicament. When he looks her way again, there’s concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

The muscles in her shoulders relax a bit and she pauses before answering, doing a brief assessment of herself. “Yes,” she says, quietly.  “I-I’m fine, I think. Other than a bit of a headache.”

“I have one too. Did we…drink something? A lot of something?”

She shakes her head weakly. “I don’t think so. It feels different than a hangover.”

“Where are we?”

“My hotel room,” she replies. “I’m fairly certain of that. But I’m not sure how we got here.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

She shakes her head, her eyes searching the ceiling in frustration. “I-I don’t know. I remember doing an autopsy with Langly, and then it gets sketchy after that.”

Suddenly he looks like someone switched a light bulb on in his head.  “You were in the casino bar last night. Frohike and I saw you. You-you were with a bunch of guys and you were acting all weird. We dragged you out of there.”

She looks at him dubiously. “Mulder, that’s ridiculous. I was not in the bar with a bunch of strange men. I would never-“

“I saw you, Scully,” he says, sympathetically. “You weren’t acting like yourself. I’d never seen you like that.”

Her arms cross over her chest. “Well what about you then? What the hell happened to you?”

“I think we were both drugged. I have no idea with what or by whom, but that’s my best guess.”

She bites her bottom lip and her eyes travel down his chest shyly, then glance off him. “Okay. But what about…” She makes a quick back and forth motion between them with her hand and looks away.

“You mean did we…”

“Yes.”

“I wish I knew.” He clears his throat again. “Can you, uh…is there any chance you can…tell?”

Her cheeks color and she huffs out an uncomfortable breath. She blinks for a long beat and he averts his eyes as she slips a hand slowly down beneath the covers, between her thighs.

Oh God. Does that feel like… oh God.

She knows what she feels like, and the slickness on her fingers is more than just her. She entertains a split second thought about the fact that she is almost certainly rubbing Mulder’s ejaculate between her fingers, and then draws a sharp breath and brings her hand back up, unable to make eye contact with him.

“Well?”

She gives a half nod with her eyes closed, her cheeks blazing. “I’m pretty sure, yes.”

The room falls into heavy silence as they both let that sink in. She keeps her eyes trained on her covered lap, but is acutely aware of him watching her.

“Scully, I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say. I mean, I don’t think I would have…” his voice falls off with an exasperated sigh.

She looks over at him, a bit taken aback by his reaction. “Mulder, the thought never crossed my mind.” She shakes her head slowly. “No, whatever happened, I’m pretty sure it was consensual.”

The relief in the breath he releases is audible. “I don’t believe this,” he says after a long minute. Then he cracks a laugh and she has to look his way, her brows raised.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she says stiffly.

He laughs again, shaking his head. “How can you not, Scully? This is just so-just so par for the course. Naturally, the one time we actually have sex, we’re drugged out of our minds and can’t remember a fucking thing. With our luck, why should we expect anything different?”

She doesn’t say anything, just sits with her arms wrapped around herself, gradually becoming acutely aware of the tenderness between her thighs. She isn’t surprised. After having gone that long without, she’s bound to feel it. She just wishes she had felt it *last night too.*

And what does he mean by “the one time we actually have sex?” When did he start thinking about them having sex? And were they doing something else that was a little bit like having sex, but not actually having sex? And what do they do now? Pretend it didn’t happen because they don’t remember it? But it did happen. And now, every time she looks at Mulder, she’s going to be wondering what his face looked like when he –“

“So what do we do now?” he asks, echoing her thoughts perfectly because they do that.

“I don’t know,” she admits. She has possibly never said ‘I don’t know’ more in her entire life.

“You know, as a man, you have to expect that somewhere along the line, there is the chance you may eventually fail to impress a woman in bed- NOT that that has happened to me so far, mind you.” He chuckles. “But you don’t really prepare for the time when you sleep with a woman and she doesn’t remember a damn thing.”

Okay now she’s starting to get a little pissed off. “Neither of us remembers, Mulder,” she snaps. “We obviously can’t be held accountable for what happened. And I’m not just any woman that you happened to sleep with. You’re taking your frustration out on me and I’m a victim here too.” She shifts hastily on the mattress. The sheet over her breasts slips and she catches it, but not before he gets a split second eyeful.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he says, and by his softened tone, he means it. “And no, you’re not just any woman. That’s what makes this even worse. I just wanted…” He shakes his head and lets his thought go unfinished.

She looks up at him, feeling their conversation shifting toward something weightier. “What? What did you want?”

“Nothing,” he says quietly.  Then after another lengthy pause, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

She forces a weak smile and a half-hearted nod, then winces a bit at what is now a throb between her legs. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t miss it and his reaction is pained. “Jesus Scully, I’m sorry. By the look on your face, I couldn’t have been very careful last night.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. I’ll be fine.” Her hand glances off his sheet- covered leg briefly, expressing her appreciation for the apology he didn’t need to give. Shifting higher against the pillows, she prepares to configure her way out of the bed and into the bathroom modestly. “I think all I need is a hot shower.”

She finds him staring at her collarbone with a perplexed expression that slowly fades into recognition, and then mild anguish. “Oh jeez.” He swallows with a grimace. 

“What?” Her hand goes to her neck, eyes full of alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

 “Don’t freak out on me when you look in the mirror, Scully. I don’t remember doing it.”

Her eyes widen and she scrambles for her purse, which is sitting on the cushioned chair next to the bed. She pulls a compact mirror from her makeup case and flips it open. Then she gasps. “Oh my God!” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him sink lower into the bed.

There is a ring of randomly placed, angry looking marks all along her collarbone and up one side of her neck to her ear lobe. Purplish-red in color, they’re the exact shape of a mouth. Not just any mouth either. A couple appear to also have unmistakeable bite marks in the very center of the ring. “Jesus Christ, Mulder! Are those what I think they are?”

He looks at her sheepishly. “Is there any chance you had some kind of unusual neck injury before last night, Scully?”

Her fingers rub at the marks as she tilts the small mirror to see them all. She can count at least seven noticeable marks. Hickeys.  “It looks I was attacked by a blood-sucking vampire, Mulder. I don’t believe this!”

“They’re not that bad,” he lies, quietly.

 She tosses him the eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? There isn’t enough makeup in the world to hide these!”

“I’m sorry, Scully.”

 “It’s going to take at least a week for them to fade!”

“I said I was sorry! But you kept pulling my head down!”

Her fingers freeze on her throat and when she swivels her head to look at him, his mouth is hanging open slightly.

“What did you just say?”

“What?”

“About me pulling your head down. I thought you didn’t remember.”

“I don’t!” He sighs. “If I remember anything, it’s like snapshots. Like just… glimpses.”  

“Well do you or don’t you?”

He sits up and puts his head down in his hands. “I-I don’t know. I didn’t…until I saw the marks. It triggered something in my brain.”

“What do you remember?” she asks, fearfully.

“I don’t know. I-I can see…” He sighs again.

“See what?” she prompts.

He shakes his head.

“See *what*, Mulder?”

He faces her head on then, his voice raised a little. “Us okay? I can see us! Me on top of you and we’re…ya know.” His eyes close in another low sigh. “Your head was…down there.” He points haphazardly to the bottom of the bed where the sheets are a huge mess.

She waits, stunned into temporary silence. He sits with his head in his hands, not moving.

“Is that all you remember?” she asks, softly.

He blinks painfully. “I-I don’t know, Scully…”

“Stop saying you don’t know, Mulder! Try.”

He works his bottom lip and shakes his head, eyes searching the ceiling. “It’s like a weird dream. I think we were…it was-“ He scrunches his forehead and hesitates.

“What Mulder? It was what?”

“Rough. It was sort of rough. I was behind you.”

“I thought you said you were on top of me.” She can’t look at him. This is entirely too much.

“Both. Part of it I was on top, but you were on top too, and then also on your hands and knees.”

“Oh God,” she whispers.

“Do you remember any of it at all?” he asks, staring down at his wringing hands.

She clenches her eyes shut and sees flickers of light. The swirl pattern on the ceiling. The feather of his hair on her collarbone. The weight of him pressing her down. Her nails scratching his back. His palms under her bottom, squeezing. His wet mouth between her legs. OH GOD. Nails again. His flesh.

OH GOD.

“Mulder turn around.”

“What? Why?”

She thumbs the edge of his rib cage gently, coaxing his back off the pillows. He rotates halfway around to face away from her.

“Oh Jesus!” she cries out.

“Scully what? What is it?”

Her eyes slam shut. “Your back.” When she finally summons the courage to look at him, his arm is jackknifed at an awkward angle, reaching to run his fingers over the welts and scratches.

“I did that to you,” she whispers incredulously, with her hand over her mouth.

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t hurt. I wouldn’t have known unless you said something.”

“Oh God, what did we do to each other last night?”

He chuffs a little. “Apparently quite a lot.”

She bites her lip in utter embarrassment.

“I think you said things to me, Scully.” His eyes widen in recognition, like things are coming back to him. “Some pretty naughty things.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“No I- Oh fuck!” Her hand flies to her mouth again.

“That word was in there, yes. If I’m not mistaken,” he teases, gently.  “But at the time, it was more of a command than an expletive.”

She whimpers into her palm, her eyes growing wider as tiny, disjointed flickers invade her memory. ‘Yes, oh God harder, Mulder. Yeah, like that. Fuck me harder, make me come! Oh God, don’t stop! Fuck me, Mulder!’

Oh Jesus. She might be sick.

“You’re remembering, aren’t you?”

She shakes her head. “No. No, that can’t be what I said,” she whispers in terrified disbelief.

He’s still wearing a stunned and bewildered smile, looking at her like it’s the first time he’s ever laid eyes on her. “Scully. You were crazy. You were-you were amazing. Like completely uninhibited. God Scully, you were-you were…”

He shakes his head in awe, at a loss for words, and she wishes she could crawl underneath the bed and hide for a year.   

“Mulder, maybe that isn’t what happened at all. If we were drugged, maybe our memories are playing tricks on us.”

“For someone who always insists on following the empirical evidence, Scully, I think you’re ignoring the bread crumbs. How do you explain the marks on your neck if I didn’t put them there? Or the scratches on my back?”

Now she’s the one wringing her hands. “How do we know any of those things happened during sex, though. We have no idea what happened to us last night. We were both clearly incapacitated.”

He smiles and there’s vague amusement in his eyes. “Okaaay… but you yourself said that you were pretty certain you’d had intercourse. I mean, I’m not a woman, obviously. I don’t know exactly how you can tell that, but I’m sure I have a few guesses.”

Her eyes close and she bites her lip, heat rushing to her face again.

“Do you or do you not think that you had sex last night, Scully?”

She emits a long sigh, eyes still closed, and nods.

“Okay then.” He pauses. “And for the record, I wasn’t going to bring it up, but I’m pretty sure I did too.”

Now she winces and lifts her head, eyeing him very cautiously.

He looks chagrined, almost apologetic as he raises his hand close to his face. “I uh, can smell-“

“OH GOD!” she cries out, thrusting a pillow into her face to keep from having to look at him.

This can’t be happening, but the sound of his quiet chuckle tells her it is. It is happening. He just implied that he can smell her on his hand, and this is officially the most humiliating morning after ever.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Scully. Men are instinctually designed to be aroused by the smell of a woman.” She watches him raise his hand to his face again, not lewdly, more analytically. “Yours is actually subtle, not very strong. More like-“

“STOP TALKING ABOUT  IT!” She presses her fingers to her ears like a child. “Just-just can we not PLEASE…”

He chuckles quietly and shakes his head. Then with a bit less concern for being naked than she might’ve predicted, he slides off the edge of the bed and finds his boxer shorts on the floor. She watches his back side discreetly while he pulls them on, and has about the fiftieth holy shit moment since opening her eyes a half hour ago.

He retrieves a chilled bottle of water from the mini bar and presses it into her hand. She tries to appear grateful.  He’s standing there at the end of the bed, shirtless and rumpled, watching her drink, and if she didn’t know better, she’d describe his expression as sated. She’s the one drinking and he’s the one who looks quenched.

She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and averts her eyes. “You’re staring, Mulder.”

“You just look…different.” He angles his head a little. “You look beautiful.”

“Mulder…” she huffs. “You’re still disoriented. I’m sure I look a mess.”

His eyes scan up and down her sheet covered form and her cheeks burn as she crosses her arms more tightly to keep covered. When she’s finally brave enough to meet his gaze, his eyes are narrowed slightly. “Were we eating in bed last night?” he asks.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

He touches his chest absently while staring at hers. “What is that?”

“What is what? Where?”

“There. Right above the sheet. By your-by your…it looks like you spilled something on yourself.”

Her hand goes to her skin, just above her breasts and touches something. A film, partly tacky, partly flaky. It’s under her fingernails now and she inspects the mysterious substance diligently.

“Oh shit…” he mutters.

“What?” She recoils from her hand and looks at him. “What’s the matter?”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even nod. Just stands there.

“You’re remembering again, aren’t you,” she says, accusingly.

He swallows and stares, like a rabbit caught in a trap. He looks almost ready to chew his own leg off and run.

 “Mulder, so help me God, if you don’t tell me what this is right now…”

“Do I have to?”

And then, just like before, her memory catches up to his, chasing her like a tornado, and she sees it. “Noooo,” she whimpers.

“You told me to, Scully. I swear. It wasn’t my idea.”

Her hand slips under the sheet to touch her breasts and she draws a quick breath. It feels tight on her skin, like glue that’s started to harden, but not entirely.  Her eyes slam shut, trying to run from the memory of him above her, his face twisted in anguished pleasure, his mouth open in a silent cry. Then her voice as she pushes on his chest, trying to dislodge him from her body at the last second. “Pull out! Pull out! I want to feel it on me, Mulder. Come on me.” Her sweaty bottom sliding against the bedspread, his anxious expression as he scrambles to his knees and leans over her. His shoulders slumping forward slightly, his hand gripping himself, his penis shiny and slick from her, sliding through his hand.  Pumping and groaning as he empties himself all over her, warm splotches blanketing her breasts and belly, dripping down her rib cage. The musky scent. Running her fingers through it, spreading it around, playing in it.

She played in it. She begged Mulder to come on her breasts and then she played in it.

“OHHHHHHHHHH GOD!” She’s struggling out of the bed now, yanking the sheet around her. “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!” The sheet catches on something and slithers off her and she keeps moving, completely naked now, clambering toward the bathroom.

“Scully, wait! Scully, come on. It’s not that bad.”

She slams the bathroom door closed and presses the lock, then slides her back down against the door to sit on the floor, knees to her chest. Her stomach rolls and she holds her aching head in her hands.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He used to think about it all the time. About two years ago. 

What it would be like to have sex with her. What her breasts would look like lying down, standing up, resting in his hands. If she’d let him watch her undress. Where she liked to be touched. How wet she’d be. How tight she’d be. If it would hurt her. What she’d feel like underneath him and around him. If she’d like it slow, fast, deep, or rough. What she’d taste like. If she’d even let him go down on her. If he could make her come that way. If she would call his name when she did.

He thought about it all the time. He watched her at work and thought about it. In the car and thought about it. On airplanes and in diners and while arguing with her in two star motel rooms with connecting doors. He thought about it at home on his couch before he fell asleep and in the morning when he woke up. He did things to himself and thought about it.

One time he went through the connecting door (which she never locked) while she was in the shower and he opened the suitcase on her bed and he touched her things. Her underwear was even smaller than he thought it would be. Her white satin bra had thin straps and underwire cups and a tiny bow in the front.  The tag inside was faded and he couldn’t read the size. He imagined it probably said “perfect handfuls” at one time.

Then over time it gradually changed. He still thought about it. But he thought about where they’d be the first time they kissed. And whether he would kiss her or she would kiss him. How soft her lips would be and if her mouth would open under his and what she’d say afterward and how her eyes would look. If she’d laugh if he brought her flowers when he took her to dinner and what her favorite flower was. If she’d be the type to sleep in his arms all night, or if she’d need her space. If she liked to make love in the morning and if she did crossword puzzles in bed and what they would do if they had an entire Sunday together with nothing planned.  How beautiful she’d look as she got older and if he could make her happy forever.  

Those are the things he thinks about now.

Never in a million years did he think their first time would be in a Vegas hotel room, with scratches on his back and bruises on her neck and no memory of how any of it got there.

He’s torn between feeling unbelievably aroused and pissed off as hell. Every time a new memory floods his brain, he’s overwhelmed. That was Scully doing those things to him. Scully talking dirty to him, asking him to do those things to her. He’s not sure he’s ever been with a woman who has said and done those things in bed before. Yes, he is sure, and no he has definitely not. She has officially blown his mind and although this isn’t how he wanted it to happen, he can’t help himself. He wants her again.

Very badly.

At the same time he’s also incredibly angry. Not with her, never with her. He’s angry with whoever stole this experience from them.  He’s furious with whoever made Scully feel this way.

He crouches by the bathroom door and listens. It’s quiet on the other side. Not a sniffle. “Hey Scully.”

Nothing.

“Scully, can you just come out here so we can talk?”

“Scully, I think if we can just sit down and discuss all this calmly, we’ll both feel better.”

Still nothing.

“Scully, I’m sorry. I know you’re upset and angry. If it helps, I’m angry too.”

He sighs in frustration.

“Scully, come on…. please. It’s just me here. Whatever happened last night-“

“I think it’s pretty clear what happened last night,” she says, her voice muffled through the door.

 Okay, she’s talking. Progress.

“Well, yes,” he says, quietly. “But just because it happened, doesn’t mean we have to let it…mess everything up…between us, I mean.”

“Mulder, how can it not?”

Fine. He’s going to say it. Because it’s about time one of them did.

“Scully,” he sighs again, building courage. “I know this wasn’t planned, and I know it feels really weird and awkward right now, but…please tell me if I’m wrong and I really, really hope I’m not… but is this all that big of a surprise? I mean that something like this *could* possibly happen between us if we were locked in a room together… all night… in the same bed… with our inhibitions lowered? Is it that impossible to imagine? I don’t like *how* it happened, but I’m not at all surprised it did.”

There’s no response from her and he feels his stomach start to tighten a little at the realization of what he’s just admitted.

He waits another beat before saying anything else.

“Is it really all that strange, Scully, to think that…if we let nature take its course…that this would have eventually happened anyway? In another place, in a better way?”

There. It’s out there. And he can’t breathe for a minute as he listens at the door. She’s right on the other side and yet she feels mile away.

“It’s not that strange,” she says finally, quietly.

His eyes drift shut in relief.

“Will you come out please?” he asks, softly. “So we can talk?”

“Mulder, I’m so embarrassed. That wasn’t me saying and doing those things. Well, it was me, but it wasn’t. You know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean. But Scully, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who sounded like a triple X movie star.”

“I’m sure I said my share of things to you too.” He grimaces a little as a few choice phrases dive-bomb his short term memory. He’s ninety percent certain he called her baby repeatedly, told her she had a beautiful pussy, and was very explicit about what he wanted her to do with her mouth. He’s also equally sure that she did those things.

“Like what?”

“Huh?”

“What did you say to me?” she asks. “I can’t remember.”

“Well that’s not really important,” he scrambles. “What’s important is that, on some level, we both trusted each other enough to say them, right?”

Silence.

“Right, Scully?”

“I don’t know, Mulder. I keep remembering things. It’s like I’m watching myself  in my head and I can’t believe it.” He hears what sounds like a strangled hiccup. “I feel sick.”

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Scully, please come out of the bathroom. It’s just me. Come on, please. Let’s just-let’s get some breakfast and talk, okay?”

He’s still waiting for her answer when there’s a knock at the hotel room door. Shit. He should have put the Do Not Disturb tag on the door. “No housekeeping, please!” he calls out as he crosses to the door in his underwear. “We uh, we don’t need any housekeeping right now, thanks!”

“It’s not housekeeping,” answers a familiar voice.

Mulder looks through the peephole and then cracks the door open just a little, keeping the chain securely intact. Frohike’s standing in the hallway in his leather jacket and jeans, inspecting him through the crack with narrowed, beady eyes.

“Man, you look like shit. It’s after eleven. I thought you two would have slept it off by now.”

 “What are you talking about? You know what happened to us?” His voice has an unmistakable edge to it.

“Calm down. Of course I know what happened to you. You were both injected with an anoetic histamine. It lowers your inhibitions, makes you do and say crazy shit. That’s what was wrong with Scully when we found her in the bar last night. Somehow after we separated, they got to you too.”

“In the elevator,” confirms Mulder. “Some asshole with an eastern European accent. Striped suit.”

“Suzanne Modeski has the antidote. She injected both you and Scully and we put you in here to sleep it off. Suzanne assured us you’d be fine.”

 “You put us in here together? In Scully’s hotel room, on her bed? Completely blitzed out of our minds.”

“Well yeah,” says Frohike, innocently. “You were both sound asleep. We locked the door so you’d be safe.”

Mulder’s head pitches forward to thunk against the door frame. “Jesus Melvin, what were you thinking?”

“What’s the matter? Where’s Scully? Is she all right?”

“She’s locked herself in the bathroom.”

Frohike’s eyes widen in concern. “What’s the matter with her? Does she need a doctor or something?”

“So it never occurred to you that you shouldn’t leave us together in Scully’s bed all night, drugged out of our minds?”

Melvin hesitates, still blissfully ignorant. “Of course not. It was you and Scully. Like I said, we locked the door so you’d be safe. What was going to happen?”

Mulder slowly raises his eyes to Frohike’s and levels a look at him. Time slows for a moment.

“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiit,” whispers Frohike.

“We woke up.”

“Oh shit. You’re kidding me, right? You mean you-you…like, you guys actually…”

Mulder nods very slowly and deliberately. “Actually. And, if my really handicapped memory serves, repeatedly.”

“Oh shit.”

“You said that already. Do you have anything more helpful?”

“You were supposed to sleep it off! You were both out like a light when we left the room!”

The sound of something clattering echoes from the bathroom. “Scully?” Mulder calls out. “Scully, you okay in there?” He starts toward the bathroom again.

“Is she all right?” asks Frohike, nervously. “You gonna let me in or what?”

“No. Stay there.”

Mulder knocks softly once on the bathroom door. “Scully, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I knocked something off the counter, that’s all. Who were you talking to?”

“Frohike.”

“Please tell me you’re joking! Then gunmen are here? Oh God, Mulder.”

“Just Frohike. He was checking up on us. And he’s not in the room, he’s standing in the hall.”

“Oh God.  Did you tell him what happened?”

Mulder hesitates long enough to give himself away. “Well, uh-“

“No, Mulder! How could you?”

“He was the last one to see us last night! I thought maybe he could help us figure out what happened. He’s not going to tell anyone. Trust me, I’ll kill him.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God….”

“Everything all right in there?” calls out Frohike. “Is Scully okay?”

“Yes!” replies Mulder.

“NO!” yells Scully.

“Scully, hang on, okay? Let me just get rid of Frohike and then we’ll talk, all right? Just-just stay there.”

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere, Mulder,” she mumbles weakly.

Mulder sprints back to the door, detouring by his pants to extract his wallet on the way. “She’s all right,” he says, thumbing through bills to pull out a twenty. He hands it through the crack in the door. “Do me a favor, though. Get me two coffees and a couple of bagels or pastries or something, okay?”

Frohike is studying him with sharp eyes. “You didn’t…against her will, did you? Because I like you man, but so help me God-“

“Jesus, no! Come on, you know me better than that.”

“Well how am I supposed to know? You guys were messed up last night!”

“She’s fine. She just-I just need to talk to her. Alone, okay?”

“If it’s you, and it was mutual…then what is she so upset about? I mean, after what she said last night, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

 Frohike’s face looks suddenly green.

Mulder frowns at him. “What do you mean ‘what she said last night?’ What did she say?”

Frohike snaps up the money and starts to pull away from the door. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Mulder grabs the corner of his jacket through the crack in the door and hangs on. “Melvin. What did she say?”

Frohike shakes his head.

“I’m not letting go until you tell me.”

Frohike sighs and his shoulders slump. “She said that she’s into you. Like, you know…into you.”

The corners of Mulder’s mouth quiver a little, goofily. “She said that?”

Frohike rolls his eyes. “Man, you are hopeless, you know that? I’m beginning to think this drug wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I was starting to think it would take an act of God to get you two together. I mean, what in the world was taking you so long? No wonder you haven’t been laid in-“

“OKAY, that’s enough. Like you should talk.” Mulder’s grip on Frohike’s jacket loosens. “Why did she tell you, though?”

“Because she was higher than a kite, I imagine! And she’s going to kick my ass if she finds out I told you.”

“I won’t say anything. I promise.” Mulder smiles like he’s just won the lottery. “Two coffees, okay?”

Frohike shakes his head and pops the money into the pocket of his jacket. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back, so get talking, Romeo.”

Mulder slips the Do Not Disturb card onto the outside of the door and returns to his post outside the bathroom.

“Hey Scully.” He sits down on the carpet. “Where were we?”

“I was having an adult tantrum and you were trying to make me feel better.”

“Oh right. How am I doing?”

“I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up anymore.” If he isn’t mistaken, her tone of voice is a little lighter. She might even be wearing a sad sort of smile. That one that always make him want to tilt her chin up and plant a soft kiss on her mouth.

“Well that’s progress, I guess.”

They both fall silent for a few moments.

And for whatever insane reason, he decides he’s just going to say it because he isn’t under any kind of influence at the moment and she knows it. Whatever trick of avoidance she wants to employ this time, she’s going to have to damn well think up another one, because accusing him of being too doped up to know what he’s saying is bullshit. If she’s going to corner herself in a locked hotel bathroom, then she’s going to have to listen to him.

“Scully, I love you.”

He hears a long sigh, then a breathy laugh. “Mulder…”

“Stop it, Scully. Stop acting like I don’t know what I’m saying to you. I know exactly what I’m saying. I love you. It’s that simple and so is what happened last night. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You can say or do absolutely anything in front of me and you’re safe. It’s not going to change how I feel about you. “

She’s quiet.

He closes his eyes and presses his fingers to his temples. “So you’re stuck with me,” he mumbles.

“Say it again.” Her voice is soft and tentative.

His picks up his head and stares at the closed door. “You’re stuck with me.”

“No. The other thing. What you said about how you feel…about me. Say it again.”

“Forget it, Scully. I’ll say it again, but I’m not saying it to a door. If you want to hear it, you need to come out of the bathroom.”

A minute passes. He hears shuffling on the other side of the door. “Okay.”

 

***

She can’t look at her naked self in the mirror. She can’t or she won’t go out there. What she must look like with her bed-rumpled hair and raccoon eyes, visible proof of their tempestuous lovemaking all over her body. She’s prepared to wrap a towel around herself, but thankfully there’s a white terrycloth hotel robe hanging on a hook by the shower. If there is one saving grace in all this mess, it’s that they managed to fuck each other in the nicest place they’ve stayed in in six years.

His admission makes her a little weak in the knees. This concept of love between them isn’t a new one by any means. But the idea that they’re acknowledging it verbally now is wonderfully unsettling. Mulder’s always been the one to say things when she wouldn’t, so she isn’t entirely surprised. He said it once before and she was an idiot. By the time she figured out that he was deadly serious, the moment had passed and she was left wondering first, if she’d imagined the whole thing, and second, how to get him to say it to her again.

Well, she knows the answer to that now.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands folded in his lap when she comes out and she has to bite back a laugh. In nothing but his underwear, he looks particularly vulnerable. It helps knowing she’s not the only one.

She gets her first good look at the room from this vantage point and her stomach flutters again. The sheets are pulled from the bottom corner of the mattress and the tacky floral bedspread lies in a mountain on the floor. There are discarded clothing and extra pillows flung about the carpet in an arc around the bed. Her panties rest in a curl atop her crumpled pants and she ponders for a brief moment if the two items came off together or separately, and did he do it or did she. She’s always wanted him to undress her and imagines he’d take his time doing it. There’s a sadness in not remembering.

He sees her scanning the room and he stands, picking up several items from the floor and tossing them onto a chair, making a path for her. His nervous smile is hopeful and apologetic, like he’s afraid she’ll do an about-face at any moment, and honestly, she isn’t sure she won’t.

“I uh- housekeeping knocked after Frohike left. I sent them away,” he says.

She huffs a quiet laugh and looks down at her bare feet peeking out from beneath the robe that’s floor length on her, ankle length on most people. “We sure made a mess, didn’t we.”

His brows arch and fall, not missing the subtext.  “Yeah but we gave it a hundred percent effort.”

She sits down next to him, close, but not touching. “Mulder, I’m sorry I reacted that way. I hope you know it was because I was upset I said and did…those things. Not that I did them with you.”

They both risk eye contact at the same time and share a shy smile. He seems unsure whether to take her confession at face value. “Really?”

“Of course.” She clicks her tongue and slips her hand across the sheet to nudge his pinky. “There isn’t anyone else that I…” she lets her words fall, not quite able to strip her psyche as naked as her body.

He covers her entire hand with his and squeezes. “Me neither.”

 They sit quietly for a moment. She thinks about how many times he’s held her hand before. Literally hundreds. And it’s never felt quite like this.

 “I meant what I said, Scully.”

Oh God, oh God. She thought she was ready for him to say it again to her face, and she is, she really is, but-

“I love you.” He says it like it’s the answer to everything and it probably is, when you think about it. Isn’t love always the answer? All those pop songs can’t be wrong.

“Doesn’t that- doesn’t that complicate things, Mulder?”

He’s still holding her hand. “Well that depends. On whether you love me too, I guess.”

She can’t look directly at him, but she feels the weight of his eyes on her. “I think you know the answer to that,” she says, softly.

He waits several beats. “I do?”

Now she looks directly at him. “Mulder, I’m here. All these years later and I’m still here.”

He smiles at that and she smiles right back at him and shakes her head.

“You should have gotten away while you could, Scully.” He chuckles.

“Instead I had to go and fall in love.” In for a penny, in for a pound apparently.

She watches him swallow as his eyes volley between hers. She’s clearly put him at a loss for words, which ought to go down in history as its own X File. Who knew all she had to do was tell him she was in love with him and he’d shut the hell up for once.

“What do we do now?” she ventures.

A spark of a smile migrates slowly from his eyes to his mouth. “Well…” He wags his brows.

Her face warms and she closes the gap of the robe across her chest, modestly.

“I’m sorry, Scully, I couldn’t resist. I know you’re not comfortable with the memories of last night, but for me, I think it’s all pretty amazing. I just wish I remembered more.”

She’s blushing fiercely now. “Mulder…”

“You know what I really wish I remembered, Scully? I wish I remembered kissing you. Because all those other things were wonderful, but what I’ve really been looking forward to for so long, is just kissing you.”

Her stomach flips and she holds her breath for a few seconds, feeling light-headed and vaporous. If he blows on her, she’ll float away like dust particles in sunlight. Her face is turned in three-quarter profile and her eyes remain downturned. He is studying her carefully, waiting for her to give him something to hold onto.

“I think,” she whispers, shakily, “that you talk too much, Mulder.”

His closed- mouthed smile is tender and relieved. When the warmth of his palm cups her face, she parts her lips and lets her eyes drift up to his. He leans over her and hovers with his mouth barely touching hers for several long seconds and she feels like her heart is going to pound right through her chest from the anticipation.

His kiss, when it comes, is the gentlest thing she’s ever felt. Her eyes flutter shut and she falls into it, tilting her head to connect better with him. She opens her mouth a little and feels his tongue sweep against hers before retreating again. She can’t suppress the contented sigh that drifts from her as he thumbs her cheek and moves his mouth over hers, kissing her thoroughly.

When they finally break for air, he continues nipping at her lower lip as they linger in the space between kisses. He’s breathing hard and he has an erection, the solid ridge inside his underwear noticeable. He catches her looking down and gives her a wry smile which she returns.

“You’re not helping matter any,” he says, glancing down the front of her. When she dips her chin, she sees that the gap in her robe has widened and the entirety of one breast, including a very pink, very attentive nipple is visible between the terry cloth folds.

Her cheeks warm for the seventeenth time that morning and she pinches the robe closed with her fingers. “Sorry.”

He smiles, still eyeing the front of the robe, regretfully. “I’m not.”

She’s trying to formulate a good response to that when there’s a loud knock on the room door and she jumps.

“ROOM SERVICE!”

“Did you order something?” she asks.

He rolls his eyes a little. “It’s Frohike. I wanted to get rid of him, so I sent him for coffee.”

Scully stands and pulls her robe tighter as Mulder starts to cross to the door. She clears her throat and her eyes glance off the front of his underwear. “Uh, maybe you should…”

Mulder smiles, guiltily. “Right.” He rescues his jeans from the floor and slips into them while she goes about plucking her lingerie from visible places and tucking them discreetly under the bedclothes.

The knock sounds again.

“HANG ON!” yells Mulder.

Great, she thinks. This doesn’t look bad at all. Then she is reminded that Frohike already knows what happened, and what was left of her dignity takes a nosedive again. She’s about to retreat back to the bathroom when Mulder slides the chain on the door and opens it.

Frohike waltzes in carrying a tray with two coffees and a small brown bag. “Good morning. Or shall I say good afternoon.”

Scully crosses her arms over her chest and stands with her bare feet planted firmly together, studying her toes. Mulder’s jeans are on and zipped, but the button on his fly remains undone, a detail which does not escape Frohike’s investigative eye. To his credit, he smiles but refrains from commenting on both their state of undress and the dishevelment of the room. She still feels like she wants to crawl in a hole and die. Thirty-five years old and she was just caught kissing a boy in her room. Well, doing a whole lot more than kissing – a fact that, if she’s really lucky, will never be spoke of again between her and Melvin. She still owes him an ass kicking for luring her to Vegas in the first place. Maybe they can call it even.        

Mulder takes the tray of coffees out of Frohike’s hands and gives Scully one. She accepts it gratefully. “Thank you.”

Frohike’s eyes go back and forth between Mulder and Scully. “So how is everybody now? Good?”

She tries not to smile, blowing on the hot coffee sandwiched between her hands.

“I arranged for a late checkout, and booked you both on a flight that leaves at three thirty,” announces Melvin. “The guys and I are going to stay on a couple of days and see if we can turn our luck around.”

“Thanks for picking up breakfast,” says Mulder, still holding the door to the room partially ajar with his bare foot.

Frohike hesitates another moment, then sighs with a smile. “I can take a hint.” He slinks out of the room, then pops his head back in. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Mulder shoves Frohike’s arm a little and then locks the door behind him once again.

“He means well,” Mulder says with a conciliatory shrug, and she nods at the truth.

They finish their bagels and coffee together, sharing few words and several shy looks. She suspects she isn’t the only one still lingering on that kiss from minutes ago.

Mulder slips his tee shirt on and buttons his jeans. “My bag is in Frohike’s room. I should go get cleaned up.”

Her breath catches as he approaches her and takes her hand in his. Raising it to his mouth, he plants a kiss to the back of it and her insides melt. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour and we’ll get out of here and go home.” She likes the way he says it. Go home.

He’s still standing in the middle of the room watching her as she disappears behind the bathroom door once again. She starts the shower, humming quietly as she unties her robe. The white terry cloth puddles at her feet like snow. Something catches her eye in the mirror right before she steps into the hot water. What the hell is that? An angry red splotchy mark on the side of her bottom, near her right hip. She swivels her back toward the mirror to get a closer look. It’s such a funny shape. She frowns. It almost looks like the faint outline of a-

“OHMYGOD, MULDER!!!!” 

“What? What’s the matter, Scully?”

“YOU SPANKED ME?!?!?”

“What are you talking about? Of course not, don’t be silly. I wouldn’t-OH SHIT!”

 “I suppose you’re going to tell me that was my idea too.” Unfortunately, he doesn’t have to.

“Well….”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Things seem surprisingly ordinary in the back seat of the cab on the way to the airport. The only difference is that she seems a bit quieter than usual. Where normally they’d be prattling on about case work, they fall mostly silent, watching the hustle of the city fade like a desert mirage with each passing mile.

What a difference a couple of hours make. She’s her usual polished self now, in black slacks and a white blouse, buttoned a little higher than usual in an attempt to hide the evidence of their tryst. Her hair is styled and sleek, makeup pristine. Just twelve hours ago, she had been scraping her fingernails on his scalp and telling him how big his cock was. He is still trying to makes sense of the existence of two entirely different Scullys in a single one hundred and ten pound package.

They end up seated in two rows on the plane. She’s in the middle of row 16; he’s on the end aisle of 17. He leans over the man in the row 16 aisle seat so many times to say something to Scully that, before they even leave the tarmac, the man asks Mulder if he wants to switch seats to be next to his wife. Scully blushes fiercely while Mulder gladly makes the the swap.

He almost summons the courage to reach for her hand when she grabs the in- flight shopping magazine and begins thumbing through it. He isn’t sure if she’s deflecting his attention or just really interested in home massagers and cheese graters. “It’s all the same overpriced products that have been in the magazines since we started flying together six years ago,” she concludes with a frown.

He leans over the page. “Oh I don’t know, I think the indoor rotisserie turkey fryer looks like something you’d use.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks, with a resistant smile. “You’re insinuating that I can’t cook?”

“No, of course not. Just because I’ve never seen it happen, doesn’t mean it can’t. You, of all people, know that I believe in the unseen, Scully.”

She closes the magazine and swats his arm with it. “I can cook, Mulder.  It just seems like a waste of time to cook for myself.”

He nudges her leg gently with his own. “I’d eat something you cooked. If it wasn’t too terrible.” His smile teases.

“How solicitous of you.”

“Breakfast is my favorite meal.” He lowers his eyes after he says it, realizing that it could be taken as the kind of invitation he wasn’t intending.

She’s forgiving. “Well, lucky for you, I make a mean omelette.”

The beverage service makes it way by them and he gets a Diet Coke, Scully a cup of hot tea. He watches her steep her tea bag and wrap it around the plastic spoon. She seems more relaxed now than she did in the taxi, and he senses that things between them are shifting back on its axis. It occurs to him that this isn’t entirely a good thing. If he knows Scully, her inclination will be to seek out the familiar and the comfortable in this situation. Their friendship is familiar and safe. And while it means as much to him as it does to her, if he has to spend another six years being just her friend, he’ll go quietly insane.

He begins to formulate a plan in his head.

Once upon a time, he was charming with women. He had a healthy social life at Oxford, muddled his way through a string of successful and not-so-successful relationships. Even lived with a woman – two if you count three months of hardly getting out of Phoebe Green’s bed.  When he graduated the FBI Academy, he had no shortage of offers for dates. He enjoyed himself for awhile. Then he met Diana and he grew up.

Then he met Scully and he fell in love.  

And although overwhelming evidence suggests that he has slept with her, he’s never dated her, and he’d really like the chance to do so.

He clears his throat and shifts himself toward her in his seat, casually raising the arm rest divider between them. “So the fact that I was unaware of your culinary talents leads me to believe there might be other things I don’t know about you, Scully.” He’s going for smooth. He’s not sure if it’ll work. She’s no profiler, but she’s damned perceptive.

“Mulder, I think you know more about me than anyone, possibly even my mother.”

He vows to ponder that idea later. “Well for instance, what’s your favorite color?”

She scrunches her brows at him, but her mouth says she’s amused. “You want to know what my favorite color is.”

“Wait – don’t tell me. I want to guess.”

She chuckles and waits patiently, arching her brows through a sip of tea.

“You’ll tell me it’s something benign like ocean blue or-or maybe-“

“Apple green,” she finishes.

He smiles. “Or apple green.” His eyes question her. “Is that it?”

“I like it, yes.”

“Okay. But what you won’t tell me is that you actually harbor a secret affection for something really feminine and girly. Petal pink maybe.” He very bravely brushes the back of his fingers to her cheek.  She starts for a split second, like a butterfly that’s had its wing touched, then relaxes. “Like the color of your cheeks right now.”

Her eyes widen and the color deepens beautifully. “Lilac,” she admits,  biting her lower lip and lowering her gaze. “I like lilac.”

He smiles smugly, pleased with himself, and lowers his hand reluctantly to his lap.

“Favorite room in your apartment.”

“My bedroom.”

“Favorite thing to eat at a carnival.”

“Cotton candy.”

“Favorite flower.”

“Peonies.”

He pauses and chews his lower lip.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m not sure I know what they are.”

“Growing up on the naval base, they grew right outside my bedroom window every spring. I’d fall asleep breathing in the wonderful, sweet smell.” She fingers the cross around her neck thoughtfully and they fall silent for a moment.

“Do you have a smell that reminds you of childhood?” she asks.

He huffs quietly. “My childhood wasn’t exactly Leave it To Beaver, Scully.”

“Neither was mine,” she replies, a bit sharply. “But there must’ve been some good things.”

He thinks. “There were. When I was really young, my mother used to read to both Samantha and me every night, long after I could read to myself. It was nice. I can remember what her perfume smelled like. I think she stopped wearing it not long after Sam disappeared.”

Her eyes are soft when they meet his and to his surprise, she reaches for his hand and pulls it into her lap. “You never asked me what my favorite part of the body is,” she says, sweetly, pushing her fingers through the spaces between his.

He smiles and watches their intertwined hands, enthralled. “Is this a clue?”

“Maybe,” she says, coyly. “Probably.”

They hold hands for the remainder of the flight and she falls asleep with her head resting against his shoulder.

***

 

He lingers just inside her door after helping her with her luggage. He feels less comfortable about just making himself at home inside her apartment like he usually does. She looks tired and he doesn’t want her thinking he expects anything. It is Friday, however, and weekend plans haven’t come up and he wonders what his chances are of seeing her again before Monday.

“So…” he starts.

“So…”

“I managed to get the report on the Martinez case filed, by the way,” he says brightly, “before leaving for Vegas.”

She nods. “That’s good. Thanks. Skinner left a couple of messages. I don’t know why he insists on only calling me.”

Mulder chuckles. “Could have something to do with me not returning his calls.”

She smiles, closed-mouthed, and removes her jacket, folding it over a chair.

“I’ll let you get some rest then.”

“It’s been an exhausting couple of days.”

“So what’s on the plate for the weekend,” he ventures casually, looking down at his shoes.

She turns on a couple of table lamps in the living room, bathing the room in incandescent warmth. “Uh, I’m having breakfast with my mom tomorrow morning. Then, I don’t know, the usual I suppose. Errands, laundry, maybe get something done on that journal article I took a break from.”

He nods. “Well, then I guess I’ll uh, see you Monday morning.” He shuffles slowly toward the door.

“Yeah. See ya Monday, Mulder.”

He swears she looks a little disappointed, and as soon as he’s outside her door standing in the hallway, he wants to smack himself in the head. He wants to knock again and go back in there and ask her to dinner tomorrow night. He wants to kiss her and taste her peppermint lip gloss. He wants to tell her that this business of not getting involved because they work together is bullshit. They’ve been involved for years now. They’re more involved than any couple he knows. He wants to tell her that it’s not about the sex (the really, really awesome sex), but that it’s about how on the days he doesn’t see her, it all seems like a big waste of time to him.

He doesn’t do any of these things. He goes home and feeds his fish and eats soup out of the can while watching TV.

***

 

Scully’s mind is on the conversation she had with her mother over breakfast that morning – about flying out to Bill and Tara’s for Memorial Day weekend this year. She had begged off giving her a solid answer, but she knows her mother will be nudging her toward making airline reservations in another week. The truth is, Scully might be holding out hope that she’ll have other plans for her three-day weekend this year.

Toting her purse on her shoulder, two grocery bags in her arms, and her mail clutched between her teeth, she shoves the apartment door closed with her aching foot. Her new wedge sandals that she bought on sale are hurting her arches and all she can think about is getting them off.  She slides out of them just inside the door and drops her purse and keys on the end table next to the vase of flowers.

And stops dead in her tracks.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, her mouth opens in a large O as she surveys the room, eyes wide in astonishment. The grocery bags fall to the polished wooden floor boards with a thunk and a bunch of bananas land in the magazine basket by the sofa.

“Oh my God,” she repeats, a little louder this time.

Peonies.

Lilac colored peonies.

Everywhere.

There are glass vases full of them on each end table in her living room and another on the fireplace mantle. A vase on her bookshelves and one in the middle of her dining table. Two large bowls that she recognizes from her own cupboard are sitting on the kitchen counter. Each is filled with water and decorated with floating, clipped peonies. They’re on her desk and her hutch cupboard. On her coffee table and next to her stereo.   

 Her hand is over her mouth as she walks down the short hallway and into her bedroom to find it also overflowing with the beautiful flowers. There are vases on both her dressers and nightstands. In her bathroom, she finds the entire ledge around her tub surrounded by smaller, shorter vases, each with two or three of the puffy flowers.

She shuffles dizzily back into her bedroom. “I don’t believe this,” she says out loud. There has to be two hundred lilac peonies in her apartment. Mulder must have bought every single one in the entire District of Columbia. The smell is absolutely, beautifully intoxicating. Her eyes flutter shut as she inhales deeply and flops down onto her bed, spread eagle, giggling like a school girl. “Oh Mulder…”

When she finally regains her bearings and sits up, something else catches her eye. She stands and walks to her bedroom mirror where a plain yellow Post-It note contains his familiar scrawl. “PLEASE CONSIDER PUTTING ON A DRESS AND JOINING ME FOR DINNER TONIGHT. 6:30 SHARP. LOVE, M.”

She pulls the Post-It note from the mirror and carries it to her bed as she lies back down and reaches for the cordless phone. He answers on the second ring.

“Hi, it’s me,” she says, shyly.

“Oh hey, Scully. Did you get my note?”

She laughs and the corners of her eyes tear a little. “Yes, Mulder. I got your note.”

 

***

 

When Mulder said 6:30 sharp, he apparently meant it. There is a knock on Scully’s apartment door as she is fastening the back to her earring and deciding between regular black pumps or sling backs. She is intrigued by his punctuality. She takes a perfunctory glance through the peephole before opening the door.  Mulder stands there, rocking on the balls of his feet like a fidgety prom date.

“Hi,” she greets him, smiling shyly.

“Hi. I hope I’m not too early.”

She swings the door wide, inviting him inside. “Right on time.”

“For a change,” he jokes. “I would have brought you flowers, but…”

She grins. “I think all my vases are currently full.”

His eyes sweep over her knee length, sleeveless black dress appreciatively before arching his eyes at her bare feet. “You look incredible, Scully. I wasn’t planning on Japanese, but hey, we can change the reservation if that’s what you’re in the mood for.”

She looks down at her bare feet and scrunches her toes a little. “Let me just grab my shoes and I’ll be ready.”

She fusses another minutes over her makeup in the bedroom mirror before tossing everything into her black clutch and slipping into the sling backs. If the butterflies in her stomach keep up all night, she’s going to be really annoyed. It’s just Mulder for God’s sake.

She switches off most of the lights around her apartment before joining him at the door. “Do I need a jacket?” The afternoon temperature had reached the middle seventies, but evenings in early May can be cool. When he offered dinner, she had assumed they’d be inside all night, but with Mulder, you just never know.

He shrugs. “It’s still pretty warm out.”

She drapes a wrap over her arm to be on the safe side, and they leave.

 

***

Mulder has chosen French-Belgian, pricey but not extravagant, and her smile doesn’t hide the fact that she’s pleased. They are led to a back corner table with a view of the City that leaves her wondering what strings were pulled on less than twenty-four hours notice. If she had to wager, she’d bet on him having flashed the badge. Neither of them were above the maneuver when the occasion called for it. She didn’t bother to bring her firearm as her form fitting dress offers few opportunities for concealment and her handbag is small. It’s become so second nature for her to carry it, even on weekends, that she feels naked without it.

Mulder pulls her chair out for her and she lifts her brows at him and smiles. “This is beautiful, Mulder. This and all the flowers…I don’t know what to say.”

He actually looks embarrassed when he shrugs. “Eh. I had some extra time on my hands this morning.”

“You must have bought every peony in the District.”

He smiles. “I am well acquainted with the yellow pages section of my phone book now, yes. Hey, at least they were in season or I would’ve had to progress to Plan B.”

“I’m afraid to ask.” 

“A year’s supply of cotton candy.”

She laughs out loud at this and shakes her head. “Well, my figure thanks you.”

His eyes drift slowly down her and back up again, and the spark in his eyes tells her that he’s biting back a hundred and one smart responses to that. Her face feels warm and she takes a drink of her ice water.

They order a bottle of red wine and begin perusing the impressive menu selections. “Care to share an appetizer, Scully? Escargot or frogs legs?”

“I was thinking more like the Vidalia onion dip or the Provencal soup. Have you actually had frogs legs before, Mulder?”

He flashes her a smug smile. “Why yes, as a matter of fact. In the heart of Upper Normandy no less.”

“I didn’t know you spent time in France.”

“Summer between my Freshman and Sophomore years at Oxford. To avoid going back home, I decided to stay in Europe and travel.”

Their wine arrives and a glass is poured for each of them. Mulder swirls the liquid in his glass and tastes it, then nods his approval at their attentive waiter. “And we’ll take an order of the onion dip to share.”

“Very well, Sir.” The waiter disappears.

 “Yes,” he continues, “a roommate and I went on a backpacking trip through Switzerland, France, and Belguim.”

Scully takes a sip from her wine glass. “A trip of self-discovery?”

Mulder chuckles. “Something like that. We stayed in youth hostels and drank our way through our savings accounts.”

 “And entertained women?” she hints, brows elevated.

“Some of that, yes. Not as many as you might think, but there was this one… I met her in a pub in Northern France. She had red hair, actually.”

Her smile is dubious.

“No, really. Green eyes, though. I stayed behind for a couple of nights while my roommate went on ahead.”

“What was her name?”

Mulder winces with a hiss. “Now you’re going to make me look bad.” He closes his eyes and frowns in concentration for a moment. “Nicole, I think. Nicole?”

Scully giggles. “I’ll never know if you’re right.”

“Nicole then. Definitely. I remember it clear as day.”

She laughs.

“Sorry. I suppose it could be categorized more as a trip of youthful indiscretion than one of self-discovery. But I did try frogs legs while I was there, which was the point, I believe.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Mulder.” Her smile is genuine. “We were all twenty once.”

He takes a drink, studying her carefully. “Yes, we were.”

She catches his eye. “What?”

“Just wondering.”

She wets her lips and looks to the side. “What are you just wondering?”

“What you were like. At twenty.”

Their appetizer arrives and the waiter sets it in the center of the white linen tablecloth. Scully folds her napkin into her lap. She draws a deep breath. “At twenty…well, I was full of idealism, I suppose, like most twenty-year-olds. I knew I wanted to go to medical school, so I was pretty focused, academically.”

“You were that girl. The one in the library on Friday nights,” he chides.

She does her best to look offended. “Not on Friday nights, no. Sunday through Thursday perhaps.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess.” He swipes a piece of bread through the dip and deposits it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Also pre-med. Or maybe pre-law. Serious. Motivated. All-American. Working class background maybe. The Captain would have approved.”

Her wine glass hovers in front of her lips for a moment before she takes a drink, giving him a patient look. “Philosophy major. Played in a band. And no, the Captain was not impressed. Especially when he and my mother arrived two hours early for parents weekend and caught us in the shower together.”

“OHHH. Ouch, Scully. As the French would say, ‘in flagrante delicto.’”

“Very delicto.” She smiles. “It was a tense parents weekend, to say the least.”

“How long did it last – you and Bob Dylan?”

She licks onion dip off her index finger. “Almost a year and a half, actually.”

“Not bad. I don’t think I had shoes that lasted me that long at twenty-years-old.”

“You must have had some relationships at Oxford,” she hedges.”Besides the delightful Miss Green.”

He smiles. “A couple. Mostly I just tried to dodge my mother’s matchmaking efforts.” He refills his wine glass. “One year, I went home for Thanksgiving and my mother had taken the liberty of inviting a lovely young lady to dinner by the name of Elizabeth Wellington.”

“She wasn’t lovely?”

“Oh she was. She was actually quite pretty and a student at Wellesley, from what I remember. But just the fact that her pedigree had been approved by my mother made me refuse to give her a chance. It was made very clear to me ahead of time that the Wellingtons would be joining us for dinner and that I should be on my best behavior.”  He takes a swallow of wine. “So… since as you know, rules were never my thing, I brought a date to Thanksgiving dinner.”

Scully’s eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

He nods. “I did. Invited her home with me for the entire holiday weekend, actually.  Her name was Holly and I had met her in a pub two weeks before. She was a waitress, not a student. My mother was scandalized. The Wellingtons were awkwardly polite, my father got fabulously drunk, and dinner was a legendary disaster. Holly flew back to London the next morning and I never saw Elizabeth again. In short, I was a complete asshole to two perfectly decent girls.” His expression is vaguely contrite. “But that was the last time my mother tried to fix me up.”

She’s thoughtfully quiet for a moment, fingering the corner of the linen napkin in her lap.

“I’m not doing a very good job at being charming, am I?”

When she looks up at him, his expression is uncertain. “Is that what you were trying to do?” she asks, carefully. “Charm me?”    

He tilts his head several degrees, holding a smile in his eyes. “The thought had occurred to me. But I guess I’m a little out of practice.” His hand lifts the wine bottle and reaches over to refill her glass. She watches the purplish liquid cascade into the glass and realizes she’s already feeling the warmth of the alcohol settling into her cheeks.

“Oh I don’t know, Mulder. You’re telling me honest things about your life. Who you were once, how you got here.” She meets his eyes and her voice lowers just a little. “I find that pretty charming.”

His gaze drifts back and forth between her eyes and her mouth and he leans forward slowly over the small, round table. Her breath comes up short and she holds it a second in anticipation.

And then his arm reaches across to her face and he swipes a finger over the edge of her mouth. “You had some dip…” He grins at her and she holds back her laugh, shaking her head and taking another long swallow of wine.

 

***

 

“I want to take you somewhere,” he says, opening the passenger door for her.

She climbs in, keeping a careful watch on the hemline of her dress as it inches well above her knees. His eyes, bless him, stay on her face, but she’s almost certain it hasn’t gone unnoticed. He’s had six years to master the art of checking her out discreetly. “We are somewhere,” she responds cutely.

He crosses to the driver’s side, sheds his jacket onto the back seat, and gets in. “Do you need to get home?”

She’s feeling coy and a fraction tipsy. “Eventually.”

His smile tells her he’s enjoying her playfulness.

“Where do you want to take me?” she asks.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Oh-kaaay.” She slides her seat belt on and sits politely with her hands in her lap. “Let’s go then.”

He rolls both the front windows down a couple of inches as he maneuvers out into light traffic.  It’s still early. She has no idea where he’s taking her and she likes being the one with no responsibility for the decision-making tonight. She trusts him and knowing Mulder as she does, wherever it is, she will not be bored. His wrists are relaxed on the steering wheel and his shirt sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms. She stands corrected – there are conspiracies in the world. Like the one designed to distract her with the ten inches of skin between his wrists and his elbows.      

She flips on the car stereo and searches until she finds something she likes – it’s vaguely R&B, sensual  with a driving beat, not her usual fare at all. He keeps his eyes trained on the road, but a smile plays on his closed mouth. 

 

***

 He’s holding her hand and leading her along a carefully manicured campus walkway on the side of a stone, ivy-covered building.  They’re in the older section of the UMD campus where the earliest academic buildings are located.

A small group of students smoke under a nearby tree, laughing. As they pass, one of them tucks a bottle of something under his denim jacket. “Hey Professor Milligan, I stuck my chem lab under your door before five.”

“That’s not him, asshole.”

“Oh shit,” laughs the first guy. “Sorry man.”

Mulder and Scully pass by and begin to climb a set of cracked and worn steps without a word.

“I think that was him.”

“No it wasn’t, you idiot. That’s not his wife.”

The door to the aged building closes behind them, and Scully breathes in the smell of polished wood and old books.  “Whoever Professor Milligan is,” says Mulder, “he was spotted on campus this evening with a redhead who is not his wife.”

“Mulder, why are we at the University of Maryland, in Chuck Burks’ building?”

He heads up a narrow staircase and Scully follows. “We’re not,” he says. “Well we are, but we’re not. This is just a stop.”

“On our way where?”

“Patience.  It’s a surprise, remember?”

She remembers. She’s just never been good with surprises. They’re in direct juxtaposition with her instinctive desire to be in control and she always finds them a bit unsettling.

They dart down one hallway, then another, her heels clicking along behind him as he tugs her by the hand. They’re in a hurry, but she has no idea why.  They stop outside Chuck Burks’ office door and Mulder raps twice. The door opens and Chuck sticks his head out to glance both ways down the empty hallway before his hand slips through the crack of the door, holding a small key ring. Mulder snatches it up and thrusts his hand into his front pocket.  “Thanks a lot. I owe you one.”

“You’ve got an hour and a half before the night cleaning crew starts. Don’t turn on any lights up there or you’ll attract the attention of campus security.” Chuck’s head disappears behind the closed door again.

Scully’s eyes widen a little. “Mulder, what in the world-“

“Let’s go, Scully. You heard the man, we’ve only got an hour and a half.”

They take off down the hallway again and she giggles, trotting to keep up.

As it turns out, they don’t have far to go. Mulder leads her two buildings down and then into a small elevator no bigger than a broom closet. He fumbles with the keys on the ring until the smaller one fits into the elevator lock and allows him to press the button labeled DECK.

“How you doing, Scully, you okay?”

She smiles up at him, amused. “I’m fine, Mulder. But you certainly have piqued my curiosity.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“So you’ve said. Would this be like a baseball playing surprise or a haunted house on Christmas Eve surprise?”

“I would hope no one gets shot here tonight, let’s put it that way.”

The elevator grinds to a halt and the doors open slowly. As she’s steps out, she’s tempted to inquire about the likelihood of anyone hitting a home run, but thinks better of it.

Mulder uses the second key on the mysterious ring to open a large, double set of glass doors. Above the doorway, in gold lettering, it reads Leonard A. Walsh Sky Observation Deck.  They step through the doors into an enormous, circular room with a polished tile floor. She sucks in a quick breath as she takes her first good look around her. The entire room, including the very center of the domed, high ceiling is enclosed in glass, giving it a bluish-white glow. She can see without any trouble at all, making additional lighting unnecessary.

“Mulder, oh my God.” Her voice echoes, almost startlingly, and she lowers it. “What is this place?”

He smiles at her look of wonder as she turns in a complete circle, taking it all in. “It’s part of the astronomy lab for the University – the sky observation lab. There are four doors,” he points, “that lead to an outside viewing deck, with telescopes mounted all around it. Come on.”

She follows him to one of the four doors and watches as he turns the deadbolt and unlatches it. “However did you arrange this?”

“Chuck knows the Head of the Astronomy Department. He pulled a few strings for me.”

She follows him onto the outside deck and her mouth drops open.  Her head tips back to her shoulders and she sways a little on her feet as his hand cups her elbow, steadying her. “Mulder, this is incredible! Oh my God, it’s gorgeous out here.” She finds herself under a blanket of pitch black, speckled with the bright silver white flicker of thousands of stars.  

“It’s a clear night. I thought it might be a good one to bring you up there.”

 Her eyes keep scanning the sky as she takes several steps around, getting her bearings. She can’t make herself look away from the infinite sky, even for a second. “This is-this is-“

“I know. I was up here only once before with Chuck, but in the daytime. I knew that I wanted to bring you here someday.”

“When was this?”

“Uh, a couple of years ago, I guess.”

This makes her lower her eyes to meet his. “You knew two years ago that you wanted to bring me here?”

Oh Dear God.

Two years. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for her and he’s been planning it for two years.

He isn’t saying anything, but he’s still holding her gaze. Her eyes move between his and she simply cannot draw breath for several heartbeats. Their silent looks communicate a thousand different things in the space of five seconds and it’s the purest expression of love she’s ever experienced. 

She crosses to him purposely, takes his face in the palm of her two hands and kisses him. His surprise lasts only a split second before he relaxes and his eyes flutter shut. She feels his hands at her waist, barely touching her, the heat of him burning her through the thin material of her dress.

The kiss is sweet, mostly chaste, but with the hint of passion just below the surface. Like if they kept at it, they’d certainly be in trouble. Her mouth releases his first and she keeps one hand at his face, the other on his chest.   “Thank you,” she says, a little breathlessly.

His eyes smile down at her, his full lower lip working a little. “Wow. I should have done this two years ago.”

She huffs a quiet laugh against the open V of his shirt. “Your timing is perfect.”

His arms go around her and he holds her close, rubbing her arms. “You’re cold,” he observes. Before she can decide if she is, or even generate a coherent response, he has his jacket off and is slipping it over her shoulders. His fingers dip below the collar to rescue her hair and lift it out. “Better?”

“Yes.”

He tucks a lock behind her ear. “So… there are things to do out here,” he reasons, thoughtfully. “I didn’t bring you here just to make out.”

She lifts her brows and doesn’t hide her smile. “Just?”

They exchange playful looks and he folds an arm over her shoulders, leading her over to one of seven mounted telescopes by the outer wall of the deck. “How well do you know your constellations, Doctor Scully?”

She watches with quiet amusement as he tinkers absently with a dial on the side of the instrument. His attempt to appear skilled entertains her.

 “How well do you know how to use a telescope, Mulder?”

“Tenth grade astronomy club. There was a girl named Patty Barringer who taught me everything I know.”

“I’ll bet.”

He tilts the scope up and peers into the lens. “See, I’ve always had a thing for cute scientists, Scully.” The telescope sweeps the sky slowly as Mulder presses his eye to it. “Well would you look at that.”

“What?”

 “I see…a lot of white blobs. One looks a little bit like a cocker spaniel we had when I was seven.”

She laughs and taps his shoulder gently. “May I?”

He steps back a little and makes a ‘be my guest’ gesture with his open hand. Her fingers begin making a few minor adjustments, pausing after each to look through the lens. “For one thing, the magnification is set too high. Always start on the lowest setting and adjust as needed.” After tinkering for another moment, she shifts to the side a little. “Now try it.”

Their height differential makes sharing a scope difficult without adjusting the mount, but Mulder is a good sport and he bends just enough to be able to see through the instrument. “Wow. That’s a little better. Where’d you learn to use a telescope, Scully?”

“First? My father. It’s something we used to do together when I was a little girl. Sometimes he’d take me onto the water at night and we’d stay out until midnight, mapping constellations. Much later I took a beginning astronomy class in college, but I only had a passing interest. What are you looking at right now?”

“Gemini, I think.”

“Yeah? Let me see.”

He holds the scope steady and she slides in front of him to look, his arms wrapped around both sides of her. “Mmm, I think that’s Auriga actually. Auriga rides Taurus the bull, and to the left of Taurus is Orion the hunter. See the belt?”  She lets him back in.

“Oh yeah.”

“Follow off the left most star of Orion’s belt and then north to find Gemini. See the two bright stars close together? That’s Castor and Pollux.”

“I see it. Is that Aries to the northwest of Taurus?”

“Yes. And then Andromeda above it and Pegasus to the right of that. It looks like a large square. Northeast of Andromeda is Cassiopeia’s crown.” She places her hand on top of Mulder’s and very slowly tilts the scope up. “Can you see the Little Dipper yet?”

“Uhh, no. Wait, yes. Now I see it.”

“Look right above it and you might be able to see Draco, if it’s not too light. Draco is hard to spot.”

“I see something that looks like a long arc,” he says.

“That’s it.”

“Draco is latin for dragon,” he muses.

“It’s the northern most constellation and it’s most visible in the spring and summer.”

“What’s the triangle below the Big Dipper?” he asks.

“I think it might be Leo Minor?” she answers, uncertain. “I don’t remember. Is there a larger one below the triangle that looks like a sort of crooked candy cane?”

“Um, maybe? Wait, yes, I think so. Is that Leo?”

“If I remember correctly, yes.”

“What do candy canes have to do with lions?” asks Mulder.

She giggles. “Nothing. Most of the constellations bear little resemblance to the mythical creature they’re supposed to represent.”

“So I’m a Libra. Where’s that?”

“Search me,” she shrugs. “I really have no idea. My Pisces is to the right of Aries, though, below Pegasus, looking nothing whatsoever like a fish.”

“But no Libra, huh?”

“Leave it to you to be hard to find in the sky, Mulder. I’m sure you’re out there somewhere.”

“That’s what people tell me. Hey, maybe we can catch a shooting star, Scully.”

She smiles. “Meteor showers are most easily seen after midnight. And with a naked eye, not a telescope.”

“Mm, naked huh?”

She bites her lip and refuses a laugh. “Eye.”

He keeps moving the scope slowly with her hand still resting over his. “You’re turning me on with all this astronomy talk, Scully. OH, hey there, is that what I think it is?”

“What?” She’s still stuck on his flirtatious comments, and the fact that his free arm has found its way around her waist and his palm is now resting flat against her abdomen.

“There. Look.” He offers her the scope.

She tries to focus both her brain and her eyes. “Saturn,” she replies with a smile. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, his breath hot on her neck, “it is.”

She breathes through her mouth and tilts her head just a little. “Mulder?”

“Hmmm…” He’s moved on to full-blown nuzzling now.”

“I thought we were looking at Saturn.” He kisses her ear lobe and she inhales sharply. “Remember Saturn…and all the …the…” her eyes drift closed, “the pretty…the rings...”

“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”

She spins slowly in his arms to face him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes foggy.  

He initiates the kiss first this time and it’s different than before. Still sensual, still wonderful. But with a bit more purpose behind it and with a meeting of tongues this time that elicits small noises of contentment from her. He works her entire mouth, leaving no corner undiscovered, while his hands do unusually intimate things to her waistline. She always knew he’d be good at this with his focused vigilance. Mulder never does anything halfway.

When the necessity arises, she seeks air. They take fitful breaths with their faces so close together that she can feel the sandpaper scrape of his jaw. “Scully, what happened in Vegas…it shouldn’t have been that way. We should have had this first.”

She brings her hand up to cup the back of his neck. “Mulder-“

“I don’t want you to think that I…you should know that it wasn’t what I-“

“I know,” she whispers. “It’s okay, I know.”

He pulls back and looks right into her eyes. “But I don’t want to go back,” he confesses quietly, his thumb at her cheek now. “I can’t go back to the way things were. You know how I feel about you. I don’t want to live any more of my life missing this.”

She answers him with a kiss, soft and easy this time, plucking his bottom lip gently, before separating. “I don’t want to go back either, Mulder. And I don’t regret Vegas. If it brought us to this.”

He swallows. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that.” He exhales and draws her closer against him. “So now what?”

She tilts her head back and gazes up at him. “Well, according to my estimations, we’ve still got at least a half an hour left here. So I think…” she lingers with her words, running her palm up the outside of his arm tenderly, “…I think you should kiss me again.”

He smiles and brings both hands up to her face and when she closes her eyes this time, she sees the brightest stars of the night.

 


	5. Chapter 5

They say very little in the car on the way back to her apartment, but he holds her hand the entire way, his fingers woven with hers and resting on her knee. She sneaks glimpses of him as he drives and thinks about how perfect the night was, how much she doesn’t want it to end. Then, how it doesn’t have to.

He’s been every bit the gentleman tonight. Charming her, romancing her, treating her like a priceless treasure. She can’t believe he’s gone to such great lengths for her – the flowers, the dinner, arranging the private sky viewing. She feels just a little guilty, like she should have told him that if he’d shown up at her place with a bad movie rental and fast food, she’d still want him. She knows it’s the truth. But this – this is nice for a change. She hasn’t been treated this way in so very long and who knew? Who knew Mulder could pull off the most romantic night she’s ever had on less than twenty-four hours notice?

She’s so lost in her own thoughts, staring out the window at floating city lights and passing intersections, that it takes her a minute to realize they’re idling in front of her apartment building. When she turns to look at him, he’s smiling at her sweetly. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she responds with a quiet sigh.

“So here we are.”

“Yes, here we are. Thank you for dinner, Mulder, and the observatory. It was just-it was perfect. I had a really lovely time.”

He nods sheepishly and turns off the ignition. “I’ll walk you up?”

“Actually, would you like to come in for a little while? Have a cup of coffee?”

His face brightens. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

It’s still a beautiful, clear night and they make their way, unhurriedly, up the brick walkway to her apartment and into the elevator. Once inside her front door, she tosses her keys and handbag onto a table and switches on two small lamps. He lingers in the middle of her living room rug with his hands in his pockets, looking around as if he hasn’t been there hundreds of times before.

“There are a lot of flowers in your apartment, Scully.”

“Yes, there certainly are.”

“Somebody must really like you.” He smiles.

She laughs lightly and then they stand there for just a minute, wondering what to do next. 

“Excuse me for a minute, Mulder. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

She uses the bathroom and washes up, pausing to wipe tiny smudges of eyeliner and smooth down her hair. Her cheeks are still rosy from the fresh night air and his kisses, and she smiles at herself in the mirror. She looks exhilarated and happy, despite the cluster of butterflies that have taken up residence in her stomach. There’s a man in your apartment, Dana. She could remind herself that it’s just Mulder, but she’s not sure if that would make it better or worse.

When she gets out of the bathroom, he’s sitting at her kitchen table with his hands resting on top, folded. He looks expectant and a little unsure of himself and it occurs to her that he is indeed waiting for coffee. Good Lord.

She smiles. “Whatcha doing, Mulder?”

He looks at her as she approaches him slowly with a little sway in her hips.

“I uh…you mentioned something about coffee?”

No wonder it took mind-altering drugs to finally get them together.

She walks to where he’s seated and he swivels to face her, perplexity etched on his boyishly innocent features. She steps between his legs and her hands find their way into his soft hair. “Do you want coffee, Mulder?”

He swallows and looks up at her with foggy eyes. The supple pads of her fingers move to his face, along his cheekbones around the shells of his ears, mapping him with her hands. He closes his eyes and presses his face to the gentle slope of her stomach while his hands find her waist.

“Mulder,” she says, her voice heavy and low, “when a woman invites you up to her apartment after you’ve been kissing her under the stars for an hour and a half, what do you think that means?”

He rolls his head up to look at her, a teasing spark in his eyes. “That she wants to see my telescope?”

A quick laugh erupts from Scully, her stomach muscles tightening against his chin. She bends to kiss him in response, sifting her fingers through his hair and pushing her tongue into his mouth. And then Mulder makes his first ungentlemanly move of the evening – he slips his hands from her waist, slides them down the sides of her hips to cup her ass and squeeze. She whimpers in delighted surprise and Mulder thrusts his tongue deeper into her mouth.

When she finally breaks the kiss, swaying on her feet, he’s looking up at her with intoxicated arousal. She isn’t confident of her ability to remain vertical much longer, so she tugs him gently by the hand. “Come on,” she whispers. He rises and follows her silently down the hall to the bedroom.

The room is cool and dark and she considers turning on a light but doesn’t. Streetlamp residue filters through the blinds and she can see enough. Can see him standing there ghostlike in front of her, waiting for her to make the first move. She approaches him and lays a hand to his chest to feel his breathing, to feel how alive and warm and real he is. His heart thrums steadily against her palm and she thinks about what his life means to her, how she’s come to need him more than anything or anyone else. How his mere existence makes everything all right. Her eyes sting and she draws a sharp breath, willing herself to stay in the moment.

She works at the buttons of his shirt until the cotton slides from his body and disappears into the dark pool of her bedroom floor. Her hands skim the planes of his pectorals, feeling the smoothness of his muscles, coarse hairs slipping in the spaces between her fingers. The pad of one thumb makes brief contact with his nipple and his chest expands sharply for a second before he resumes drawing shallow breaths.

He stands still with his arms at his sides and she can feel the tightness in his biceps and shoulders as he holds back, letting her explore him. There is effort involved in his patience. She loves him for this, for his insistence on letting her set the pace. When the back of her hand follows the thin trail of hair down the front of him and she tucks her fingers into the front of his waistband, he releases a caught breath and a soft groan. “Christ, Scully…”

She kisses him deeply, all the while working his belt free, then his button and zipper. His pants collapse to his ankles with a clank of his belt buckle, and she knows what she’ll see without looking down. She steps even closer to him and OH, he’s right there, hard as a knife between them, nudging her stomach. His lips release hers and for the first time since they moved into the bedroom, he touches her with his hand, palming the back of her neck and tugging her head to his chest. “Scully, God…” he struggles to slow his ragged breathing. “I want you too damn much.”

“Me too,” she rasps, pressing her cool lips to his overheated sternum.

“I want to make this slow…to be good for you…but I don’t know…”

“Shhhh,” she whispers to his chest. “Shhhhh, it’s okay.”

“I should lie down,” he says, dizzily. “I’m going to lie down.”

She nods and they move to the bed. She turns down the comforter while he slips his boxers off and unfolds himself onto the sheets, lying on his back and watching her. The solid ridge of his cock is angled against his belly. She is still entirely clothed and she goes about rectifying that, reaching behind her neck for the catch on her dress.

He watches her, his eyes shifting over her body as she undresses. She fights the modesty she feels and lets him drink his fill, knowing he loves her. He loves her. She is safe with him.

She is not embarrassed of her body. But it has been so long since she’s undressed in front of someone. So long. She is fit, lean. But there are scars, marks, defects, maps of a road traveled where she has been damaged and marred, but it’s her journey – their journey. And if anyone will love her imperfections, he will. If the look on his face is any indication, she has nothing to worry about. No man has ever looked upon her body this way. She feels as breathtakingly splendid as a Renaissance painting, bathed in moonlight as she snaps off her bra and her breasts fall free.

He reaches for her immediately when she lies down next to him, leaning over her on his elbow.  An eager hand trembles and floats over her naked torso, barely touching her. His fingers ghost up her bare hips and stomach, then to her breast where he finds her nipple pinched into a tiny peak, overstimulated and desperate for his touch. Only his.  “Beautiful,” he whispers, kissing the slope of her shoulder. “You’re just so beautiful.”

At the first brush of his wet mouth to her breast, she gasps and arches, then releases control, letting herself drown in the sensations. His tongue flicks and teases her nipples, one then the other, while his fingers stroke the velvet undersides of her breasts. The dull ache between her legs becomes a throb and she is crushed by desire for him. Her nails scrape his scalp and she shifts impatiently against the sheets until he steadies her with a hand to her hip. All the while, he takes his sweet torturous time, his mouth bleeding hot over her hypersensitive skin.

“Mulder…please...”

He takes her nipple between his teeth in a gentle bite and she nearly jumps off the mattress, her hand fisting tightly in his hair. “Oh My God, yes!”  His head raises up for a moment to regard her curiously and his eyes question her. ‘So you like that.’ Her cheeks flush hot as she answers him silently in the affirmative. He appears thrilled with this new discovery and dips his head back down to her chest, doubling his efforts, this time with a hand between her thighs.

He is stroking and teasing and stroking and teasing and touching her everywhere except on that tiny spot where she needs it most. Her hips circle feverishly. At the moment, all the blood in her body is concentrated in one small area, leaving her unable to do much more than pant and moan, which she is doing expertly.

No one could ever fault him for skimping on the foreplay, that’s for sure. She’s had good sex before, but no one else has been quite so thorough with the preparatory stages. Most men are patient with the kissing, but once the clothing comes off, there seems to be a general desperation to get on with things. It would appear that Mulder has a deep appreciation for the entire process. Given his tactile and focused nature, this shouldn’t and doesn’t surprise her. It does, however, frustrate the hell out of her at the moment. She’s so wet she feels like the Amazon is running between her thighs.

“Mulder,” she groans.

He keeps licking her breasts like they’re coated in sugar.

“Mulder.”

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs without looking up. Like she is truly interrupting him.

“That feels amazing, but I need…oh God,” she pants. “I just need…”

He rolls and settles his body over hers, caging her beneath him. His smile is one of smug satisfaction. “Anyone ever tell you you’re impatient in bed, Scully?”

She can’t think of a catchy response so she reaches between them to wrap her hot hand around his shaft. “Oh shit,” he hisses.

“You were saying?”

He gazes down at her hungrily now as his knee works itself between her legs, parting her thighs wide. She lifts her hips a little and guides the tip of him in. He finishes the job in one long, smooth slide home. “Sweeeeet JE-sus, you feel good,” he groans as he begins a slow rocking motion.

The sensation of him inside her is spellbinding. It feels both new and familiar to her, like the pages of a book she’s almost sure she read once and loved. She is gripped by the certainty that it was amazing between them the other night, perhaps the best she’s ever had. She knows it will be this time too. It already is.

His masculinity is overwhelming to her in ways it never has been before. Muscles rippling beneath his skin as he pushes into her. His smell, musky and sweet, like sandalwood and the lingering hint of his faded aftershave. The thatch of hair surrounding his cock tickling her labia.  The strength of his forearms as they bear his weight.

She tugs his head down to hers and plunders his mouth while her fingers press into his shoulder blades, urging him. His hips move faster and his eyes slam shut and he feels suddenly harder inside her, his thrusts deep enough to rock her entire body. She is hovering on that plateau that she knows so well and she just wants to scream and swear and thrash and then come until she’s empty and limp with exhaustion. 

She contracts her internal muscles around him tight and his mouth pops off hers, eyes frantic.  “Oh God Scully, don’t-don’t-Jesus…” She releases and he slows dramatically, barely pushing into her more than a couple of inches. Jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut, he fights for control.

After several moments of almost no movement, he relaxes a little and dips his head to kiss her again, sipping from her lips. She smiles up at him and cups his cheek tenderly. “That was close,” he whispers with audible relief.

“Sorry.”

He kisses her again. “I can wait. I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to.”

He pulls back to look at her. “Don’t be silly, Scully.” He’s pumping into her languidly now, leaning his weight to the side on one knee. She can tell that even this degree of movement is taking a great deal of concentration on his part.

“Mulder, I don’t always…It’s okay. Really. You don’t need to wait.”

He frowns. “That’s about the lamest thing I’ve ever heard. What asshole convinced you of that?”

She’s amused and a bit charmed that he has the decency to look entirely pissed off at her nameless past lovers. “I only meant that there are other ways, Mulder.”

“I know that,” he says, his scowl softening. “But there’s this way too.” He speeds up some, pumping into her a little faster and a lot deeper. “And you should know by now that I don’t give up easily, Scully.”

Her breath catches as he pushes himself up again onto his hands and locks his elbows. Indeed he doesn’t.

“Just tell me one thing,” he says, “swiping at her moving nipple with his tongue. “Am I on the right track?”

He latches on and sucks hard. “Oh God!” she cries out, her hands twisting the sheet.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, his mouth slackening on her breast.

She presses his head down. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Mulder.”

He responds with a sharp thrust and a scrape of teeth and she goes back to not thinking again. Sweet Mother Mary and Baby Jesus, how can he be this good? How could she even have considered waiting and not making love to him tonight? How could she have survived this long without him doing this to her?

And how can she be this close again this fast?

This never, ever happens to her like this. Not this quickly. She starts rocking and arching and digging her fingers into his shoulder. And he’s suckling her and humming happily and driving into her like some ungodly force of nature and…and…and…pulling out?

Her eyes fly back open and try to focus. “Mulder, what in the world…ffffuck…”

He chuckles throatily and lifts an amused brow at her. She isn’t a stranger to profanity by any means, but she typically sticks to the more benign. Mulder could probably count on two hands the number of times he’s heard her say fuck. He gets that same delighted look on his face each and every time.

Before she can tell him to please get the hell back up here and finish what he started, he’s lowering himself down the front of her body, peppering her overheated skin with open-mouthed kisses and she suddenly knows exactly what he’s going to do and Oh My God, she doesn’t know if she wants him to-and Oh My God, she can’t remember when the last time- and Oh My God, she doesn’t know if she can- and OH MY GOD, he’s spreading her wide and pressing the tip of his tongue to her clit.

His hands slide under her bottom and he holds her open, anchoring her to the mattress.

He laps away at her, flicking and pulling gently and circling. Lapping and flicking and pulling and circling. And then circling some more. And then darting his tongue inside her and out again. In and out. In and out, then back to the lapping and flicking, now with two fingers curled and pumping inside her.

When he lifts his eyes up her body, she’s touching her breasts, rolling her nipples roughly between her fingers and his tongue slows for a moment. “Christ, Scully…oh Christ.”

Before she can form another thought, he’s climbing her body with crazed eyes, sliding back into her in one smooth stroke.  Pumping into her so hard. So hard and fast and deep and she presses her heels to the mattress and pushes back against him and feels herself shatter into a million pieces, crying out loudly into his shoulder with each quake and spasm. She’s trembling hard as she feels him release a long, shuddering breath and then pulse into her.

They breathe raggedly against each other and she feels him struggle to keep his weight off her as his strength leaves him. With a kiss to her temple, he rolls off and she misses the sensation of him inside her almost instantly.

Mulder gathers her like rose petals and curls his naked and spent body around hers. She has the muscle tone of a rag doll. Her limbs are heavy and her slickened thighs are still quivering. She wants to ask him if he’d consider getting her a glass of water but he’s unusually preoccupied with sucking and kissing the side of her neck at the moment and it feels too nice. So post-coital Mulder happens to be orally-fixated as well. Good to know. She’s going to need to invest in lots more blouses with collars on them.

His palm strokes circles on her stomach and he nudges a hairy leg between her knees. They lie like tangled strands of DNA.

Scully feels his breathing start to regulate, the rise and fall of his chest against her back decelerating. She could easily fall asleep like this, the closeness of him like a drug to her. Should she ask him to stay the night or just assume he knows he’s welcome to? More than welcome to. Tomorrow is Sunday. She wants to wake up just like this and make love again.

They lie in silence for a while and she watches the shifting patterns of dulled headlights on her ceiling. She thinks he may have fallen asleep, the typical post-coital male. So this was the key to his insomnia all along, she muses, smiling into her pillow. Should have tried this long ago and he might not have been waking her up at all hours to chase monsters.

She’s surprised when she feels him stir and tighten his embrace on her. “You surprised me tonight,” he whispers. “I didn’t think you were ready for this.”

“I didn’t think I was either at first,” she admits. “But it just felt right.”

“You won’t get any complaints from me.”

She huffs out a laugh, then pauses for a moment. “The truth is, I think we’ve been ready for this for a while now, Mulder. So despite the way it happened, Vegas may have been a blessing.”

“Should we send the Gunmen a fruit basket?”

She chuckles softly and they grow still again, drifting and dozing.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m thirsty and you’re closer to the kitchen.”

He plants a kiss to the edge of her mouth and sighs with a smile, then rolls out of bed. “So it begins…”

Minutes later, he returns with two glasses of ice water and she drinks half of hers down before settling on her side. He snuggles close again, pretzeling her. 

“Scully?”

“Mmm,” she sighs, blissfully.

“Do you know the story of the peony?”

“No,” she says, smiling. “Tell me.” Of course he would know it. Of course. How many orgasms would it take to shut his brain down, she wonders idly. It’s worth some field research she decides.

“The Greek myth states that the peony is named after Paeon, a physician to the gods. He was saved from the fate of dying like other mortals by being turned into the flower known as the peony. It represents healing. Which is why,” he kisses the top of her shoulder, “it is the perfect,” a kiss to her elbow, “flower,” another to her wrist, “for you.”

“Mulder.” She giggles. “Did you actually look that up to impress me?”

“Nope. The guy at the seventh floral shop I went to told me after I mentioned that I was trying to romance a sexy Fed. I think he figured if I was buying fifteen dozen flowers, I needed all the help I could get.”

“Well,” she lifts his hand from its cozy spot on her tummy and plants a kiss to the back of his knuckles. “I don’t think you need any help in the romancing department. The flowers and the dinner…the stargazing? It was perfect. I didn’t know you had it in you, Mulder.”

“Ooh, ouch!” He rolls onto his back and his hand meets his chest in a dramatic wounded gesture.

She laughs. “I’ve just never seen this side of you before, that’s all.” She turns over and rests a folded arm and chin on his chest, looking up at him. “It’s sexy.”

His fingers drift up the sides of her bare back, tickling her rib cage. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She rubs her nose over his chest, nuzzling him.

“Because I got moves, Scully.  This is only the tip of the iceberg. I can be romantic, so you just-you look out.” He sniffs haughtily.

“Mmmm…I look forward to it.” She hums distractedly, losing herself in the smooth muscles of his chest, the quiver of his abdomen in response to her hot breath. She moves lower still.

“Where ya going, Scully?”

“Nowhere. Just visiting,” she says, all but innocently. His penis lies curled to the side of his groin, peacefully. “It’s so cute and sleepy.” She blows on it and he jumps.

“Scully!”

She giggles.

“Just what a guy longs to hear. The woman of his dreams describe his manhood as ‘cute.’ Wake me in an hour and we’ll see how cute you think it is then.” He yawns and she figures he’s earned a little sleep. She climbs back up next to him and tucks her head beneath his chin.

“An hour, huh?” she sighs, drowsily.

“Mm, n’hour.”

They both fall fast asleep.

 

***

Mulder awakens just before dawn to the feel of something tickling his chin. He sniffles and rubs at his nose, then dozes again. Seconds later, the tickle is back. He forces his eyes open and they try to focus in the shadows. Scully’s lamp. Scully’s headboard. Scully’s cream-colored comforter and sateen sheets. Scully’s head under his chin. Scully’s arm across his chest. Scully’s bare breasts-

SCULLY’S BARE BREASTS.

Holy shit.

The events of the night before come rushing back to him and he smiles to himself. So this is what it’s like. Waking up with her in his arms.

He can tell she’s sleeping heavily by her deep, steady breathing. As much as he loves feeling the softness of her pressed against him, the fact of the matter is, his entire left side has fallen asleep and he needs to move. He stirs experimentally, trying to extract his arm from beneath her. She moans quietly and shifts onto her hip a little more so that the creamy mound of her breast is facing up and he’s staring directly down at one perfect little raspberry shaped nipple.

His morning erection jumps like it’s just received an engraved invitation.

He glances over at the bedside clock. 5:15 a.m. Well, she did say she’d wake him in an hour, right? And it’s been almost five now, so… 

“Hey Sculleee,” he purrs in her ear.

No response.

He sweeps her messy hair from the side of her face and begins kissing her cheek and jawline, pressing his nose to that soft, silky spot behind her ear. “Scullleeeee…”

“Mmm,” she hums without opening her eyes, a tiny wrinkle forming between her brows.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” His hand slips stealthily up over her bare hip, skims her tummy, and then begins caressing the underside of her breast. “Hey Scully…”

She inhales sharply and her eyes flutter several times before opening into annoyed slits. “Mulder, what’s the matter, what time is it?”

“It’s uh, early. A little after five. Remember how you said something about waking up in an hour and we could…ya know…” He wags his brows at her.

His smile wilts a little in response to her death glare. “Mulder, is my apartment on fire?”

He shakes his head.

“Has there been an earthquake or flood? Are we being evacuated? Has there been a worldwide plague, famine, or nuclear disaster? Is the earth about to be decimated by an asteroid the size of China?  Has worldwide peace been declared?”

“Uh, no?”

“So let me get this straight then. You woke me up at 5 a.m. on a Sunday to have sex with you.”

“But you said an hour, Scully. It’s been five.”

With a loud huff, she rolls onto her side, facing away from him, and thrusts a pillow over her head. “GO BACK TO SLEEP, MULDER.”

“I can see that you’re giving it some thought. You just let me know when you’re ready, Scully. I’ll be here, okay?”

The other pillow whacks him hard on the side of the head.

 

***

Two Days Later

 

Frohike, Langley, and Byers take the red eye back from Vegas on Tuesday, seven hundred dollars ahead of where they were when they left DC the week before. Not bad for a bunch of amateurs.

It’s just after 6 a.m. when they arrive back in their apartment, unshaven and in yesterday’s clothing. The only one not likely to sleep the rest of the day away is Byers, who shuffles into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator, ready to compile a shopping list. “Eww. Who forgot to throw away the leftover burritos?”

“Not it,” yells Frohike, sifting through the pile of laundry on his bed for his cowboy pajamas.

“Sorry,” yawns Langly. “That’s why I shouldn’t be on kitchen duty.”

Frohike tosses him his best bulldog scowl. “You seem to think you have valid reasons to be exempt from bathroom duty, shopping duty, and laundry duty too.”

“I do,” shrugs Langly. “Basic short-term memory loss. Unless you want to be out of TP all the time, have a cupboard full of cereal with no milk, and wind up with Byers’ underwear in your drawer, then I should stick to party planning and Christmas decorations.”

Frohike rolls his eyes and shuts his bedroom door.

It’s been four days since the scene with Mulder and Scully in Vegas and he’s kept his mouth shut, not letting on to the others that anything was amiss between their two favorite federal employees. Although they seemed all right when they finally left the hotel, he sensed that things were still a bit tenuous. And even thought it takes two to tango, as far as Melvin was concerned, it was Mulder’s responsibility to make things right. He had as much as said so to Mulder before he left in a cab with Scully for the airport. He knew that Mulder would never purposely hurt Scully. But nevertheless, his track record in that department left a little to be desired. Mulder was a good friend, but he was also a little dense sometimes when it came to affairs of the heart. And the bottom line was Melvin would leap tall buildings and juggle swords for Scully any day.

It’s about the time Mulder would be getting up for work. Frohike picks up the phone and dials.

He’s about to hang up after the fifth ring when Mulder finally answers.  “Yeah. Mulder,” he says, sounding a little breathless.

“Uhh, sorry man, I figured you’d be up for work. What  -  were you out for a run?”

“Frohike?”

“The one and only. We just got back into town.”

“How was it?”

“Seven C notes.”

“Not bad.”

“So we were thinking of blowing some of our winnings on surf and turf this Friday. You in? I’ve got a solid on a bootleg copy of Attack of the Beast Creatures.”

“Uhh, Friday?” There’s shuffling on the other end of the phone and Frohike thinks he hears Mulder cover the mouthpiece for a second. “I uh-I don’t think Friday’s gonna work. But if my plans change, I’ll let you know.”

Melvin frowns. “Since when do you have plans on a Friday night?”

“I should jump in the shower,” says Mulder, deflecting the question. “Don’t wanna be late for work.”

“Since when?”

“Skinner’s on our asses about the cost of the Vegas hotel.”

“Did you at least tell him you two shared a room?” chides Frohike.

“Very funny.”

Frohike clears his throat. “Speaking of Vegas, how’s Scully doing?”

“Scully? Oh she’s fine. Yeah, Scully’s doing very well actually.” There’s a muffling through the phone, then the sound of the receiver clanking against something hard, followed by what sounds suspiciously like shushing. But of course, Frohike must be mistaken.

“Are you sure? Because she wasn’t exactly feeling her best when she left for home.”

“Um…hang on a sec.” More loud rustling. The sound of Mulder laughing, then “Ow! Sorry Frohike, what?”

“Scully,” Melvin prompts, now more than a little curious. “We were talking about Scully, remember. And whether or not she’s-“

“Good morning, Frohike,” the very familiar female voice says into the telephone receiver, and Melvin’s eyebrows take a hike to his receding hairline.

“Good morning to you too, Scully. I was uh-I was just calling to uh-what I mean to say is that I thought I’d check and see-“

“If I’m all right. Yes, thank you Melvin, I appreciate that. But as you can see I am just fine, so if you’ll excuse us, we were just waking up.” There’s muffled movement again, followed by a low, breathy laugh from Scully. “Mulder, stop it.”

Frohike’s eyes are the size of the chips he cashed in ten hours ago.

“Was there anything else then?” asks Scully. “Frohike, are you still there?”

“I’m here,” he replies, a cheeky grin spreading slowly over his face. “Nope, I think that about covers it.”

“Do you need to talk to Mulder again before I hang up?”

“Oh no.” Frohike chuckles silently. “You just wish him a pleasant morning for me.”  Although, he suspects that won’t be necessary.

“Goodbye Frohike.”

“Catch ya later, Scully.”

When the call disconnects, Frohike stands there for a moment, staring down at his phone in awe. Then he makes his way into the kitchen where Langly is busy making himself a peanut butter and banana sandwich and Byers is cleaning out the refrigerator. The counter is littered with jars of mayonnaise and salad dressing , a tub of margarine and a sad, brown head of lettuce. Byers has removed his tie, which is the signal that he means business.

“Don’t bother getting steak and lobster for Mulder. His Friday nights are spoken for from now on,” announces Frohike.

Langly looks up from licking peanut butter off a knife. “But he’ll miss Attack of the Beast Creatures. We’ve only got it for the one night. Did you tell him that?”

“Mulder loves surf and turf night,” says Byers, forlornly. “What could possibly be more important than- OH!” Byers pauses and then smiles. “Ohhhhhhh.”

All three men share looks.

Langly laughs. “See I told you guys something was up when they left Vegas. Called that one.”

“Add a bottle of champagne to that shopping list, Byers,” instructs Frohike, with a satisfied smile. “Gentleman, this calls for a celebration. In fact, add two. We’ll send one to the happy couple.”

 

***   
 

The phone gets tossed somewhere in the general vicinity of the foot of the bed and Mulder stares at Scully with his mouth slightly open, a smile in his eyes.  “I don’t believe you just did that.” He chuckles and returns his attention to where it belongs – kissing that spot right below Scully’s ear that makes her make those cute little purring sounds.

“Maybe you could ask the Gunmen to hold off phoning until after 7 a.m. on weekdays.” She rolls over and swings a bare leg, straddling him. He sucks in air through gritted teeth.

“I wish I could have seen the look on Frohike’s face when you got on the phone.”

She rocks back and forth gently in his lap as his erection presses against her bottom, hopefully. “Mulder,” she says, bending down to tease his mouth with her own. “We have exactly thirty minutes before we need to shower or we’ll be late for work. Do you want to talk about Frohike, or do you think we can come up with something more fun to do?”

His hands climb the backs of her thighs. “Frohike who?”

 

 

 

THE END.


End file.
